


petals, your lucifer is lonely

by yellowlightsaber



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abuse, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Ben is Hades so... literally Immortal, Boss/Employee Relationship, Drug Use, F/M, Gang Rape, I promise, I promise there will be a HEA, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), It'll make sense, It's not really a relationship, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Multi, No contraptive, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Prostitution, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religion Symbolism, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rey is 18, Sexual Harassment, Someone teach me, Still learning how to tag, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Stripping, Suicidal Thoughts, The Dark Side of the Force, Threesome - F/M/M, Violence on a Female, Workplace Sexual Harassment, a lot of the implied tags are described in the story to a certain degree, body injury, it's still a dark fic tho, no birth control, please read the trigger list of each chapter before moving on, refusal of hospitalization, religion liberties, short described threesomes, tags will be added as the chapters get updated, the rey and snoke tag will only be for a little while, there will be fluff and consensual smut soon, wanting to runaway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 54,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowlightsaber/pseuds/yellowlightsaber
Summary: The Gods had place Persephone under a curse eons ago. She no longer remembers her husband, Hades, and has been forced to endure a mortal life alone. With no high school diploma or job experience, Rey is desperate in this new life and takes a job as a stripper atThe Empire. To her co-workers and clients, she goes by the namePetals. But unknowingly to her, there has always been somebody in the shadows watching, waiting for his calling card.After all, her Lucifer is lonely.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Snoke (Star Wars)
Comments: 102
Kudos: 107





	1. baby girl, it's rigged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i have other wips but i did this to myself so i have to stick to it. i know and i am aware. this is based on an au prompt i uploaded a few days ago and linked [here](https://twitter.com/theyellowsaber/status/1287728468105535489)
> 
> i had planned for this story to be a long one-shot and i was going to wait but i'm really excited about it because this story is darker than most of the things i've written. well, at least i'm trying to make it darker than my usual stuff. so i said fuck it, here you go.
> 
> hoping to get the next few chapters done within the next week since i'm on break right now from school. but i also do have other wips so, haha i'm boo-boo the fool.
> 
> but y'all know the drill by now; triggers will be posted in the endnotes!
> 
> **this work is unbeta'd but i did my best to catch any mistakes.**

The music was loud.

Far too loud for her liking, but that’s the thing about music in a strip club.

It is always loud.

It gives the clients something to nod their head along, to follow the beat of whatever popular rapper was playing. It’s all so they could pretend to live a different life, talking about fucking bitches and getting money, going hard on the drugs, and live a life of crime. They throw their hard-earned dollars to the women who danced on stage for them, watching as they move their bodies professionally in ways that their wives or girlfriends couldn’t do.

But it was too loud.

Hiding in the dressing room, she waited for her cue and leaned back against the wall, the dark lighting casting a shadow over her body. The electronic bass reverberated off her skin, vibrating down the length of her spine and crawled in an ill-manner tempo that reminds her of what’s to come after this shift — of what happened just fifteen minutes ago.

Her eyes closed, inhaling the stale smell of mixed drinks, sweat, and the burned scent of grass, ignoring the leaking mess between her thighs. She heard the song that’s playing outside, mumbling the lyrics to herself.

“ _ Pour it up, pour it up. Watch it all ball down. Strip club and dollar bills, I still got my money. Patron shots, can I get a refill? I still got my money.” _ She nimbled on her bottom lip, mulling over the meaning of the song.

To the average listener, it’s nothing more than a song that celebrated having wealth, status, and spending cash to their heart’s desire. 

But at the Empire, they held a deeper meaning to the employees — especially the dancers. If the girls did their jobs correctly, most of these men wouldn’t have their money by the end of the night.

Notorious for its vetted dancers and high entrance fees, the Empire was known as  _ the  _ strip club to visit. It wasn’t the average local club that catered to the natives; those seeking to spend their 21st birthday or husbands bored of their nightly routine at home.

If you were rich, famous, and had connections, then you were part of a small club who  _ could  _ get inside. To be welcomed with open arms and a face full of tits, that was another invitation handed to the tiny bunch.

You would be lucky to brag about it. 

Fogged in a cloud of discreetness, clients were expected to b held at a high standard like the dancers and other employees.

Getting into Empire meant knowing the right people and who’s pockets to stuffed with daddy’s money. It was a fair trade of goods for a night of pleasure for these men. To hand a job here and stay, however, you were set for life.

But there is the training period that no one tells you about — or rather, warned you about.

On her very first night out on the pole, Snoke made it a point to get his message across.

“Suck their dick then suck them dry of their cash,” his slimy voice rapes her eardrums, digging his crusty fingernails on to her delicate tanned skin. She bit the inside of her cheek, wanting to call him an old crook of a man but abides to stay silent as his greasy fingertips left imprints on her arms. “Five thousand on my desk by dawn or you’ll be considered out of a job and back on the street.”

Her eyes looked onward, centered on the strict method that the dancers moved their bodies on the pole with grace under the flashing strobe lights to the beat of sultry music. 

Snoke lingered in her personal bubble, curling a crooked smirk to himself as he raked her body with his small eyes. 

She didn’t lie to herself that night — she knew he was undressing her in his mind.  Her stomach twisted at the memory of that night, the first of many that would end up becoming normal. 

The five thousand that Snoke requested didn’t make it into her g-string, she recalled. 

“No rookie could ever make that much in a single night,” One of the experienced dancers, Aqua-Dove, told her once the last patron left. “It’s rigged, babygirl.” She’s truthful in her delivery, ripping the bandage that she didn’t know was there in the first place.

The others looked at her with sympathy, pressed forced smiles, and eyes bright with guilt as none of them offered to help the new girl. 

Her glance downcasted to the neatly stacked pile of money on her vanity. She counted the cash twice and no amount of hope or wishful thinking could conjure the missing two thousand she needed.

She danced her choreography, being precise with each twirl and back bent that she practiced hours before. She played the innocent fool for men whos pinkies were worth more than the entirety of her life and a small bundle of meaningful belongings.

The display of her small breasts was pleasing to the beholder, glittering under the neon lights as she batted her eyelashes, stroking their bicep and led strange men to the private back room. 

There was no foreplay in the action or beating around the bush. Each of the men knew what they were paying for and threw the hundreds on the floor when she got on her knees, unzipping their pants and freed their semi-hard cock out. 

None of them said thank you or offered to pay her extra for the work and bruised knees. She was forced to keep their salty substance in her mouth once they were finished, waiting patiently until they left to spit the vulgar taste in the hidden trash can.

Then she was told to do it all over again until the night was done.

But she was still two thousand short of the goal.

Snoke liked to call the girls in one by one after the night is over to split the earnings and tips. It makes everything slower, leaving them to fester with worry over their employment — if they’ll be around for another day.

When she finally makes it inside his office, dressed in an old baggy t-shirt and dull nylon shorts, the sun broke through the creaks of the room.

“I can make up the remaining tonight,” she implored him after giving Snoke the total number of bills. She shifted at the edge of her seat, nervously picking at her fingers and jumped in before he responded. “Or I can work a night for free, on my day off. All my tips would become yours, no questions asked.”

Snoke remained indifferent, setting aside the money she collected and scribbled something on paperwork before turning it over to read. 

The semi-dark glow of the office gave his deep wrinkles a sinister appeal, highlighting the hideously dense marks that left him scarred years prior. 

She couldn’t close this job. 

The Empire became her last resort as a means to survive, to use her somewhat passable body to live. She wasn’t much to look at, that she knew and understood well but she needed to stay here. 

At eighteen, the foster system gave her the boot before she could graduate high school. No job would take a dingy, dirty little nobody without a diploma attached to her name, closing her off from the traditional American values of uplifting her life like going to college.

Every location, it didn’t matter exactly where, shooed her away even if they were desperate for employees.

She was nothing.

She was alone — a little scavenger nobody that wouldn’t be missed.

Snoke threw his thin-rimmed glasses on the desk, rubbing his fingers on his stumbled jaw. He eyed her with beady eyes, pondering over an answer that she dreaded.

“What a nice cock warmer you’ll be,” he grins, flashing yellow-stained teeth and rolled his chair back to inclined on the leather.

The zipper strain of his slacks dampened the cold interior of the room, emphasizing the dark truth of her reality. If she were to refuse him, the consequences would be larger than a loss of employment. She’d be blacklisted from every club in town, probably the whole state too. She had no money or transportation to get out if that were to happen. 

She was a sitting duck. Snoke knew this and used how desperate she is to keep this job and avoid becoming one of the women under the 40th street bridge. 

Somehow it feels like she has already become one of them.

All the air in the room was sucked away when his hands unfastened the button of his pants, pushing down the clothed material until his-semi-hardened cock was out. “Come sit on my lap and we’ll consider this forgiven. After all,” his aged thumb rolled at the top, smothering the pre-cum down the short length. “You are only just learning.”

_ Saltine crackers and water,  _ she repeated the mantra as she stood on shaky legs, taking a step to round the desk but Snoke stopped her.

“Clothes off,” he clicked his tongue in the request. “Show those pretty little tits to me, give me something to look at.”

_ Saltine crackers and water,  _ she reminded herself of the only meal she’s had in four days as the tiered layering of her clothing is removed and the chilled air of the office toughened her nipples. 

“That’s more like it,” Snoke hummed in approval, never straying his eyes from hers as she came closer and dropped to her knees. 

_ Saltine cracker and water,  _ she chimed when unushered tears stung in the corner of her eyes when she took his cock into her hand, grimacing at the senior member before taking it into her mouth.

There was rent to be paid in two days after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **triggers**  
>  implied prostitution  
>   
> alcohol and drug references  
>   
> forced sex work  
>   
> employer/employee sexual relations  
> 


	2. jesus christ forgives our sins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually put the trigger list in the end to avoid spoilers but this story is starting to become _heavily_ full of triggers that even I had to take a moment to stop and have a breather, and I’m not somebody who has triggers tbh. The tags will continue to be updated as this story moves along because I am not fully sure of what else will continue to pop up. A lot of it was a surprise to me as I wrote this chapter so I wouldn’t be puzzled if it keeps happening with each new chapter I write. 
> 
> I completely understand if you decide to stop reading due to the nature of this story (and where it’s going) or prefer to skip on this chapter. Please remember to always take care of yourself and your mental health. Don’t read for the state of it being Reylo or it being inspired by Hades & Persephone. For your consideration, I do have other fics that aren’t triggering on my AO3 and Twitter!
> 
>  **triggers**  
>  described rape/gang rape (starts "Her heart rate flushed her ears, coloring..." and ends "Petals imagined their unknown faces....")  
>   
> drug references  
>   
> loss of virginity  
>   
> slightly described/implied forced threesomes  
>   
> implied suicidal thoughts  
>  **Disclaimer:** I should have put this in the first chapter but I was way too sleepy to remember (no excuse but I literally could barely keep my eyes open) so I’ll put it here but I am admitting, right this second, that I do not know what goes on in a strip club setting. I have never visited a strip club before or participated in any form of sex work (s/o to those who do! All the more power to you because I, personally, can not/don’t feel comfortable with myself to do so). I do, however, want to bring to the light that there is a 45-75% chance of sexual violence happening to [sex workers](https://www.huffpost.com/entry/16-facts-about-sexual-ass_b_8711720) (statics may have changed since the article posted, but I haven’t found another source. When I do, I will update/post on my Twitter!). These individuals are not protected by the rape shield laws or assisted by government officials who are biased against them when a case does get presented in court.
> 
> For the context of this **dark** fic, I am taking it to the extreme and literally letting my muse (Rey) take me where she wants to go with it. My original intention for this story was to keep it as a one-shot and kinda gloss over the club part to go straight into the stuff I wanted to write but my muse would not let me go past that and here we are, with a possible growing chapter count and more triggering subjects along the way. But that does not mean that these certain themes and events don’t happen in real life to very real individuals. While yes, I am writing this story and sticking with it to challenge myself in a darker form of writing that I have never done before, I want to make people aware of what’s going on and help these individuals. 
> 
> For your consideration, please donate (I have!) to some of the following organizations that assist sex workers and victims of sexual assault.  
> [SWOPUSA](https://swopusa.org/donate/)  
>   
> [Black Sex Workers Collective](https://www.blacksexworkercollective.org/donate-1)  
>   
> [SWCFund](https://www.gofundme.com/f/SWCFund)  
>   
> [SWOP Behind Bars](https://www.swopbehindbars.org/donate/)  
>   
> [RAINN (I've worked with them before!)](https://donate.rainn.org/donate)  
>   
> [NSVRC](https://www.nsvrc.org/donate)  
> I swear this story was going to be dark until a certain point and … well, you’ll see.
> 
> Story is partly beta'd by the amazing **[HoodaWrites](https://twitter.com/HoodaWrites)** (don't kill me pls)but I'm an impatient bitch who wanted to upload tonight so!!

Virginity is a societal complex that places special value and significance on unmarried females to predominantly guide their life. The whole concept is associated with the notion of being pure-hearted and one with God, to be worthy for a future husband who will feel self-righteous to take his new bride as a conquest rather than an equal partner. 

At eighteen, being a virgin is a state of mind and she discarded the thought with no emotions when Snoke took her that night. 

He wouldn’t finish in her mouth like the other men did, not how she was told this part of the job would be. Instead, he grabbed her hair at the root and forced her up to lay back on the desk and spread her legs wide.

“P—Please, not this...” She implored Snoke as he observed her, scratching his long fingernails on the globes of her ass. They suck deep enough to draw blood. She cried but he didn’t give her any attention. Alternatively, he pushed his pants lower and aligned himself with her entrance. 

His tip edged along the entry and she grew numb when he forced his way inside of her, thrusting until he bottomed out quickly. Without properly letting her adjust to the feeling, his hips started to move at a frantic pace. She wasn’t slick enough to handle the pressure and she sobbed, trying to push him away but Snoke rewarded her with a hard slap across her cheek.

“Shut up and take it,” he growled, quickening his tempo. Her complaints were silenced, forcing down her throat as her gaze looked up to the revolving ceiling fan. It mocked her with its slow turns, keeping her focused on the impending finish.

_ It doesn’t matter, _ she repeated when her body went limp to his touch, allowing him to do as he pleased with her. 

_ Virginity is not a real thing,  _ her mind supplied when she felt her own walls tighten around him and the pit of her belly tense with a pull before it snapped. She felt something pleasure take over her senses, which baffled her when her legs started to shake and toes curled around his waist. Snoke finished inside of her, allowing his spread to run down her thighs, down her ass and onto the oak desk.

Tears are running down her cheeks when he uses a crooked finger to lap his cum and marks her belly and breasts with the sticky substance, letting it dry on her tanned skin. 

“You’re one of us now,” Snoke grinned, running his wrinkled thumb over her hardened nipple and twisted it until she hissed with pain. “You’ll fit right in, dollface. ”

_ It’s not something important _ , that’s what she kept telling herself on the bus ride home that first night. The bus driver didn’t regard her when her cheeks were wet with tears and dampened the collar of her tattered shirt. It’s deemed unimportant and meaningless, she had other things to worry about.

She lost her virginity to Snoke and she doesn’t care.

When she comes back home to her small apartment, smelling like cum, smoke, sweat, and feeling like an adulterated whore, she still doesn’t care. 

The ghost feeling of his hands touching her breasts, pinching her nipples as the flesh became scarlet under his watch, followed her into the half bathroom. She used cold water to rinse the cum from her hair and scrub her body red to remove Snoke from her, but she still doesn’t care.

As she laid on the lumpy mattress, burrowing her head into the pillow she purchased from GoodWill, she keeps telling herself that she doesn’t care when she’s overwhelmed with the saltiness of her tears and soaks the pillow all the way through until it is time for her shift again.

She doesn’t care. 

From that first night, it became a common occurrence — something she didn’t think much about and saw as another mark to scribble off from her checklist before leaving work.

She’s grown numb to it all.

Every night, after flirting with their top clients and pleasing them with her mouth, she turns into Snoke’s favorite fucktoy. When the club emptied of patrons, she was expected to be in his office — naked with her trash bag of earnings in tow. None of the other girls commented when they watched her strip out of her cum-stained bodysuit, still wearing her clear (or light pink) platform heels, and inhaled a deep sigh before walking out the door.

She fell into a routine. 

Friday, Saturday, and Sundays, she was told to be a pretty girl and wait for him on the sofa — naked with her breasts on full display, knees bent and parted for his liking. Sometimes she was told to touch herself and work herself through the first orgasm while he recorded on his phone, other times he handed her a toy to use so Snoke could control the device from his desk.

At least she learned to prepare herself for the final result.

“Something for me to look at, babygirl.” His chronic vile voice muttered in her ear that night, his finger dragging along her forced wet-folds until he licked the digits clean in his foul mouth. That same tongue dragged along her throat, biting and sucking until there’s a purple bruise on the narrow nock of her neck.

Snoke liked to claim her.

“You’re my favorite girl,” he once said, throwing some loose change on her belly so she could take the early bus home.

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursdays, she’d be in his office before a shift. Her body bent forward on the desk, her chest pressed against the paperwork and cheeks spread apart so he could insert his cock upon entering. 

He usually left the door open on Thursdays.

“Need to show those pretty tits of yours, Petals,” Snoke grunted, slapping her wet cheek that called for a strength that she hasn’t known him to have before. 

Some employees paraded inside on any given day, asking for certain signatures of the latest delivery of alcohol or a dancer coming in to switch shifts with another. Some clients came in, asking to expand their membership and praised Snoke for what a  _ fine  _ job he’s doing in training the girls.

“Need to teach them early, right?” Darth Maul, a mid-40’s businessman who purchased real estate in low communities and flipped them to make a profit, told him one night. They laughed it off when Maul started to undress as well, forcing his cock into her mouth when they decided to take turns.

Any of them said anything when Snoke continued to ram into her, holding a conversation as they ignored his grunts and her tears. They didn’t do anything to stop them when she involuntarily was shared among Snoke and the other men who came in to do business with him. 

It didn’t matter.

_ You are nobody _ became her mantra as Snoke pleasured himself with her body on the desk, on the floor, or on the cum-stained sofa of his office littered with the history of previous girls he has taken. No doubt the other dancers who are happy to see it wasn’t them anymore. 

He cums inside of her each time, forcing her to take it and hold it inside. Snoke won’t let her go until he was satisfied watching it ooze out of her slowly, grinning like a Cheshire cat who found a pot of gold.

“Something to remember me by, darling,” he laughed, slapping her naked ass with his lips kissing her ear lobe. “Until next time, Petals.”

Monday… She never slept on Mondays.

They were supposed to be her day off — the one day of the week where she could be or at least try to feel human again. There wasn’t a soul that called her Petals on Mondays. 

Petals.

That’s what they called her when she came into the Empire one night, several months ago, shivering from the rain, looking for a job, and a hot meal. Each of the dancers took one glance at her and laughed at the orphaned nobody dressed in clothing three sizes too big for her, covered in scars and bruises from her rough night under the bridge with a small plastic bag holding her belongings.

“How adorable, we have fresh meat to spoil, ladies.” Sugar Lips, one of the older girls, snickered from her seat on stage as she lubed one of the poles on the right.

“Should we call her the runaway? She can’t look more than sixteen, the poor lamb.” Another—Daisy Jones—commented in a pose accent from the pole, effortlessly twirling on the silver rod to hook her fingers around and slide down in a perfect split. 

She just turned eighteen, fresh-faced, and hadn’t graduated high school. The system wouldn’t keep her, even if she could pass for sixteen.

One of the girls, J’Adore, took a cautious step towards her, humming to herself before coming over to peel apart her appearance but found something more appealing to the eye. Picking something out of her dirty locks, she lifted it out into the blue-toned light of the club for the others to see.

A bright red rose petal.

“Did you roll in a bed of roses, darling?” She chuckled, pulling more of the crimson bud from her hair. 

“If you have that many petals in your hair, then you must have a pimp caring for you, baby girl.” Chimed Lucy Kitty, sipping on the metal straw of her mineral water, and tapped her acrylic nails on the can. “So why are you here?”

“I… I need work,” she mumbled, feeling smaller than before under their hateful eyes.

“If she joins, what should she be named?”

“Petals — That’s what we’ll call her, but we must get the name of your florist. Those buds are getting everywhere!”

She looked down at the darkened flooring and she realized the ring of rose buns around her. J’Adore continued to pull more from her hair while one of the bartenders came to assist as well. They laughed at her, commenting on the amount of petals they tugged out before she was escorted to meet Snoke.

Petals. 

Mondays were the one day of the week that she’d have to remind herself of her (alleged) birth name. 

“Rey,” she’d whisper in front of the grimy, scattered mirror in her shoebox apartment. Over the police sirens, wails of unwanted children left home alone, and gunshot barrels going off, she would say it again — as a way to connect herself back to reality.

“My name is  _ Rey _ .”

Rey.

Petals. 

On Mondays, she wasn’t supposed to be called Petals or tucked in Snoke’s slimy grasp, but Rey had never been the type of girl to have luck in her life.

She didn’t expect her luck to change now.

It transpired on a Monday. Mary Bells, one of the few dancers who showed Rey any form of sympathy and a small dose of compassion, had fallen sick with a nasty case of the flu caught from her toddler. She offered Rey everything — her hourly wage, tips, and several fat-pocketed clients who dished more during their private tour than out by the pole. 

“They’re selfish and greedy, but they’ll pay well,” her nose was stuffed to the brim with snot, making it harder for Rey to understand. She hesitated over the phone, not entirely wanting to be called Petals seven days out of the week and be in near proximity to Snoke.

However, Rey chanced a small turn around the apartment, tightly gripping her broken and battered, barely-hanging-by-a-wire flip-phone. 

The rent was due in four days and she ran out of quarters to do laundry, wearing a dirty two-day-old shirt and her last pair of clean underwear. The ramen noodles she purchased at the local market two blocks away were filled with maggots and covered her home with other bugs in a matter of hours. Those same insects have found new vacancies inside her  _ thrown-into-the-dumpster-but-recycled-by-Rey-furniture _ .

With a defeated sigh, she agreed for the sake of making it through the week.

Rey should have said no if only she knew what was going to happen that night.

Borrowing a lime-green mesh two-piece from Honey Pie, she waited in the threshold backstage for the stagehand to signal her cue before the music started.

Honey Pie was the only dancer who closely resembled Rey in their body structure; Petals sat at 5’7” with a small chest and freckles around her body while Honey was 5’5” and pudger around the hips with larger breasts to flaunt, smooth olive skin that was catered for every day. 

Petal’s chest didn’t fill in the top, dipping down to her nipples as she paced before pulling the fabric up again. The long sleeves were tightly fitted halfway to her forearms, limiting her mobility. She had to tie a small knot on the side of the undergarment to hold it in place, fluffing it to make it look like a small green pom-pom. 

“It’s custom,” Honey rushed to tell her when she came in, doing the favor for Mary Bells rather than Petals. “Don’t ruin it or break it.” Before stepping out of the dressing room, Honey turned around and poked a finger at her. “And I better not see a single drop of the snake’s shit cum on my two-piece or you’ll pay for it.”

Despite the nerves of Honey Pie’s demands, Petals was bathed in emerald crystals that glistened under the sea of darkness. She knew when the lighting fell on her tonight, as she went about doing her routine, she’d be a bright star hovering over the crowd. 

The click of clear stiletto platforms became mute under the layer of blaring remix music playing. Pop songs met sultry beats to create the suitable atmosphere that Snoke wanted for their clients, to feel the notes in their cocks and cash-filled pockets and are more willing to give up their 401k’s or their children’s college fund.

_ “What’s practical is logical. What the hell, who cares? All I know is I’m so happy when you’re dancing there. I’m a slave for you. I cannot hold it. I cannot control it. I’m a slave for you. I won’t deny it, I’m not trying to hide it.”  _

She’s a slave to the club, a slave to merely survive.

The neon glow of her lipstick and green wig matched under the fluorescent lights that beamed between the curtain cracks. She could hear the crowd with their howls and whistles, cheering on as their paper was thrown into the air and falling towards the stage.

There’s a mirror for final touch-ups and her body turned to it, tilting her head to look at the image ahead to comprehend what she looked like tonight.

_ Portulaca,  _ that’s what her outfit declared. A portulaca, one of the few flowers that naturally glowed in a green fluorescent shade in the cover of night.

Rey can’t recall where she learned that information from, most likely from an old hand-me-down biology textbook in her unfunded school district, but she vividly remembered seeing a large field where the flowers kindled in a warm crimson light. The sky was black, hovering with gray clouds that didn’t spell the rush of rain but thunder loomed every so often as the teardrops of diamonds fell on to the ground to create a new harvest.

She stood in the middle of the glowing field, watching in a pristine silver and sapphire flowy gown that molded down her shoulders and down back to create a beaming train as the gems never touched her. They were unable to do so for there was a bubble protecting her from the harsh crystal. 

Her hand extended out to watch the diamonds slip toward her manicured fingers like liquid. It's a stimulating view; the fluid never wets her skin or scratches the surface but it hardens when it meets the black dirt, getting swallowed back into the soil. 

In the corner of her eye, a dome of ametrine shelters a small section of the garden. Through its holes, black flowers cover the sections — roses most of all. 

Her toes curled in the dark Earth, sensing the fruitful life that grew underneath the surface but it’s sham to her very being. She’s upset but she doesn’t understand why the world is allowed to grow and birth new life while she was unable to do so.

“My rose petal,” she remembered somebody saying once, or multiple times, in a tint of velvet dusk that she found solidarity and comfort in. It was love in the form of one small nickname, of an eternity’s worth of promises. 

But Rey didn’t know what love was or what emotions it conveyed. 

It must’ve been a silly dream, something orchestrated by her subconscious to create her reality a more manageable affair.

Rey doesn’t love — she wouldn’t know how to.

“What a lovely surprise this is, Petals.”

Like a vice, his voice slithered down the length of her back and created a foul taste in her mouth. She regards the old man from the mirror reflection, flagged by his group of bodyguard bandits on his side. Her eyes never strayed away from his hunter stare, frozen in place to study him as Snoke’s lips curled in a bone-chilling, and unorthodox, evil fashion. 

Swallowing her fear, she picked up her voice over the beats and cheers of the clients a mere couple of feet away behind the curtain. “Bells is sick.”

His group of guards was called the ‘Elite Praetorian Guard’ as if they were a part of a medieval cult designed to cloak themselves in deep crimson metallic clothing with adorned silver and red masks to hide their identities. Their hands were protected by scarlet gloves with a leather embroidered symbol of the  _ First Order  _ on the palms — once a job was completed, they were able to leave a bloody mark to warn everybody, and anybody, who crossed their path.

The insignia of Snoke’s cruel creed was illuminated in different areas of the club — the sixteen-rayed symbol inscribed within a hexagon that informed everyone of just  _ who  _ they were paying their pleasure for. 

  
  


It was the first night she started working where she met four of the eight guards, keeping a watchful eye of the activity happening around Snoke while the other four survived the club scene outside. Rumors picked up about them that she overheard from the other girls and none of them were ever good. 

Under their masks, they had a precise means of murder and struck a bolt of fear in everybody’s chest. They stood in silence, circling their victims and allowed for their heart rate to pick up instead so they could pass away from a heart attack rather than getting their cleaned and slicked gloves dirty with blood. 

A snap of Snoke’s greasy fingers meant a death sentence for many — employees or clients. 

“No one knows their names. They’re all criminals on the FBI’s most wanted who got on Snoke’s payroll,” whispered Daisy Jones late one night when Snoke left with his guard to check on an incoming shipment. 

“Some say they are professionals, taken from when they were children in different countries and trained to kill on command so Snoke paid for their lives and services,” Diamond Star, the club’s most popular dancer, commented while applying mascara. 

“Well, I heard they’re all little rich white boys from the suburbs paying him to play the big touch role they can’t do with daddy’s money or connections.” J’Adore huffed, patting a new layer of blush on her cheeks. 

“Whoever the guards are, they’re still dangerous so keep your opinions to yourself.” Sugar Lips glanced at the door, nervously chewing on her bottom lip and ate away at her bright pink lipstick. “Or have you all already forgotten Melody?”

Each face in the room fell except Petals, who furrowed her brows. “Who was Melody?” She questioned, but everybody shied away from answering and rushed to prepare for the night ahead. They grimmed away from the topic, busy counting their tips from early clients, and retouching their make-up instead of informing her about the truth.

Turned out Melody was the last new girl that came in before she showed up at their doorstep. Melody used to be Snoke’s favorite girl until she was caught working with local law enforcement to shut down the club. 

Her remains have yet to be found.

“How unfortunate for our resident Bo-peep is out sick,” his hand lifted, waving two fingers towards his guards. 

Her heart rate flushed her ears, coloring the skin pink when three of them broke the half-circle formation and stepped on either side of her. Her breath hitched, turning to run away but one of them grabbed from behind and pinned her arms together around his grip. She used all her strength to tug them away but another came to bind them with thick rope. 

“Stop!” Petals yelled when they ripped the borrowed semi-transparent top to expose her tits in the soft lighting. She kicked her legs out to get away and managed to hit one of them in the face with her chunky heel but the remaining guards returned to force her against the sound booth.

“Get off of me!” She cried, cheek pressed against the red and green controllers that handled the music outside. They laughed, undoing the underwear she wore and let the tethered pieces pool around her ankles.

“She’s a feisty little bitch,” one of the guards commented, bashing her head against the panel and dipped his cold hand to cup her dried sex.

She gritted her teeth, struggling to remove the weight on her. “Let go of me, please!” Her mouth gasped when she’s suddenly removed and carried away, thrown on one of the metal tables that the dancers used to collect the rest of their money or do a line of the hard white supply before taking a turn at the pole. 

Her legs were held down on the table by the guards while another situated himself in between her legs, pumping his cock out to ready itself with pre-cum, chuckling at her undefended body.

“No!” Petals widen her eyes in fear, fighting to move away desperately but a different guard comes and holds her shoulders down. His cock was also freed too, trying to force the short length into her mouth and take it from the position. 

Snoke tsked his tongue, coming up beside the man who shoved his soft penis down her throat and cupped her jaw, smoothing away the green strands of her wig away from her face. His hands were gentle, soothing away the drool that escaped the corner of her mouth.

Like she supposed a loving man would do to his devoted lover. 

But Snoke wasn’t devoted or a loving man.

“My boys needed a stress reliever,” he chuckled, watching as her face scrunched up in pain and she cried out for help, muffled by the stuffed penis in her mouth. “So why not share my Petals?” They took turns entering inside of her — rough and unpleasant as she kept begging them to stop, to let her go but they didn’t. 

Their gloved-covered hands gripped her throat, cutting her access to oxygen as they impaled her and left stark purple bruises with their fingers crushed. They snickered at her tears, wiping them away.

“This Petals bitch wants more, don’t you think?” One of them spoke but his voice was alternated to a deep, mechanical tone that would be the source of her nightmares for years to come. 

Employees and other dancers walked by with their eyes glued on the floor, rushing to get away from the scene and disassociate themselves.

The guards came inside of her, in her mouth, or ejected on her stomach — or her arms, thighs, hair, and face. She trembled, staring up to the ceiling with tears rolling down the corner of her hands. Her vision blurred and the sound of their grunts became background noise as she envisioned herself back in the field of ruby portulacas, dressed in elegant attire that would put the Queen of England to shame while someone cradled her in their arms with protection. It would rain diamonds and she never had to worry about anything either again. 

After the fourth cock was coerced past her lips, Petals made it a point to stay still. It was easier to relax her jaw and she prayed it would be over soon.

Hovering over her nude desecrated body, Snoke hummed triumphantly to observe the masterpiece created by his guards. His steps were slow, off-beat with the fast tempo playing overheard. He cleared away a lone tear from her cheek, bringing the finger up to his lips and grinned down to the used girl with unwelcoming eyes. “I expect you in my office later tonight,” Snoke told her, moving away and back inside the formation protected by his crew. “I have some business to attend to, baby girl, but remember to clean yourself up first.” He smiled, walking down the narrow hallway that was unobstructed by employees of the Empire. “I need to remind you of just who you belong to.”

Two of the guards stayed behind to release their spread on her breasts before securing themselves back inside their pants. They cut the rope that bound her hands with knives hidden in the pocket of their jackets. 

Petals imagined their unknown faces grinning when they gashed two marks on her upper right arm before walking away, leaving her limp body on the metal table.

“That has to be the tightest pussy I’ve ever felt my cock around. Best fuck I’ve had in a while,” one laughed over the music, shoving his buddy in a playful push. 

“Snoke will get rid of her soon. Think we can fuck the flower again before its time to bury her with the other whore?”

The strains of a new song playing absorbed their statements, drawn out in the cold air, and replaced with a pure erotic pleasure that incorporated the animalistic desire of humans. Its beats were old, clouded with a barmy voice that spelled mischief and a knack for trouble.

“ _ You let me violate you, you let me desecrate you. You let me penetrate you, you let me complicate you. _ ”

She idly gawks at the ceiling, unaware of the workers who skidded past her body without a second glance or the smallest lick of remorse.

She could’ve been at death’s door and they didn’t chance a glance at her.

“ _ Help me, I broke apart my insides. Help me, I’ve got no soul to sell. Help me, the only thing that works for me. Help me get away from myself. _ ”

A stagehand came close to the table she laid, clearing his throat, and stared at the iPad in his hands, brightening his blank features. “Petals, time for your call,” he said quickly, rushing back to the closed south booth that provided him with safety.

Petals doesn’t know how long she laid there, blinking with shallow breaths as her throat aches in pain from the harsh treatment the guards took upon her. Her name was called out over the speakers, followed by the small cheer of clients outside but she didn’t move.

She heard the quick clicking of another voice, a dancer, running past her in the hallway. 

“Lazy bitch,” Sugar Lips rolled her eyes, bringing a small crystallized ball to her nose and snorted the substance. 

It felt like an eternity flew by before she peeled herself off the warm countertop. Sitting on the table, the leftover cum slowly dripped out of her and soaked a new spot. Most of the fluids had dried on her skin, painting her as the used whore that Snoke wanted Petals to be known as.

On quivering legs, she hopped off the stained table (Snoke would surely take the damaged item out of her earnings this week) and started a shameful walk towards the restroom. Sometime during the brawl, her platform heels were removed when she kicked another guard in the face and became another item on her list to replace.

At the edge of the area, she leans forward to grab the ripped remains of Honey Pie’s outfit. Frowning, she realized it’s another new expense she’ll have to pay back to the girl. At least she kept her promise not to have a single drop of cum on the article of clothing, that much is true.

“ _ I want to fuck you like an animal. I want to feel you from the inside. I want to fuck you like an animal. My whole existence is flawed, you get me closer to God. _ ” The sounds rolled off their meaning as she held the demolished pieces of her identity close to her chest, flashing some form of modesty until she reached the bathroom.

Everybody continued to ignore her as she walked — heads tilting away to something more important than her.

It’s like she didn’t exist — a phantom haunting the grounds of a strip club.

She slumped inside the restroom and locked the door with a soft click. Her forehead pressed against the wooden material, breathing in the stale air on a shaky inhale before turning around. She kept a tight grip on the mesh clothing, protecting her last line of sanity with eyes closed before facing the truth in the mirror.

“ _ You can have my isolation. You can have the hate it brings. You can have my absence of faith. You can have my everything. _ ”

Petals counted to the number six before opening her eyes and stared at the uncanny reflection of herself looking back, hands slowly coming down the length of her chest and stomach to show her the full image.

The wig cap that held her chestnut hair had come undone at the base, ruined from the rough tugging of hands. The false extension clips were out of place, clinging to the brown strands of her natural hair to demolish the illusion she wanted to play tonight for clients.

“I am no longer a portulaca,” her voice hung low, hands toying with the mesh clothing before releasing the material.

Seeking purchase, her hands snaked around. She gulped, tasing the sour flavor of cum in the back of her throat, fingernails scratching the uneven rigs of wood pressed against the skin of her back.

Her toes curled at the clothing that pooled at her feet, letting her eyes roam down what the mirror showed her before looking down at the physical evidence.

She keened, glassy eyes closing once again before the tears could form.

Her upper arm was pigmented with the color of her blood; long thin channels of the crimson wound still pouring from the uneven marks given to her by the guards. The raw white marrow touched every corner of her body that she could see, bordered along the edges of bruised deformities of forced fingers that will take weeks to heel.

It will bring down her already low-rates for clients who enjoyed seeing their purchased four of pleasure to be spotless and unspoiled.

But Snoke knew that when he unleashed his hounds.

Reaching forward, Petals leaned towards the dirty sin. She gripped the porcelain borders, licking the dried blood, and spread off of her bottom lip before opening her eyes again.

Down her blotchy red cheeks were the inked rivers of destroyed black mascara — some cheap off-brand mascara from the dollar store that was labeled as water-proof. She heard from the other girls that it was the best to prevent the dreaded runny cum-shot look.

“I am never buying from that brand again,” she said, sighing.

It was useless to continue the  _ fantasy _ she framed herself to be tonight, so she pulled the wig and cap off her head. Both items were dropped in the sink, allowing her hair locks to whisker down her shoulders but Rey never looked away from the bersed mirror. 

Most of all, she became fixated on her eyes — they were once bright, colored in shades of forest green and hazel along with the unusual tint of gold that others found inviting when the sunlight hit her just right.

Rey had always liked her eyes; they always whined bright with hope in the mirror. Now, they were darkened into black dead-glanced orbs, directly looking back at her and projected the emotions that were buried deep within until now.

She is dead.

Petals is dead.

Rey is dead.

So why was she still there — lingering around the living who never showed her a sense of compassion or kindness, to be pushed and pulled like a ragdoll on the playground, buried in the sand and abused by a newcomer every day? To be used and broken and forced to walk along the path of shattered glass that caused her to bleed with each step?

She should, perhaps, save Snoke’s men the trouble and finish the job for them. Her soul has escaped a long ago, leaving behind a hollow body to suffer the cruel tendencies of men.

At least they wouldn’t defile her body once she’s gone cold with blue lips and gazed eyes. 

If there was such a thing as Heaven or Hell, Rey wonders if she could find freedom in the afterlife.

Would the protective angels of Heaven welcome her, despite her unmerciful sins? Or would she be shot with a golden arrow and downcasted to the burning pit of Hell to make amends for all eternity?

There is no one to save her soul in this world of mortals, not like her former foster mother, Ms. Jade, would tell her and the other four foster children she cared for before Sunday service.

They stood in a tight line against the kitchen counter, hands out on the cold marble top with fingers spread wide. The sun was beginning to rise over the horizon but the children were told to wake up and be in the kitchen, dressed for service, before Ms. Jade finished her morning prayers at 5 in the morning.

The girls, Rey, Cara, and Beru, wore pale-pink button-down collared dresses with ruffled-shorts sleeves and white stocking paired with Mary-Jane shoes. Mitaka, the only boy and the eldest among them, was dressed in pale tweed overall shorts, a white long-sleeve button-down shirt, and saddle loafers.

“Stop fidgeting,” Mitaka whispered to Rey, the youngest of the girl at age four. 

“But Mikey,” she couldn’t pronounce his name correctly. “I sleepy.” The little girl yawned, unable to rest her head on the counter because of the height difference.

“You can nap after service, I’ll do your chores, okay?” He urged her to stay awake, hearing the creaking footsteps coming down. “Just say awake.”

“Repeat after me,” Ms. Jade raised her voice before entering the kitchen.

Each of their backs squared to attention, stiff under the vile woman's stare as she stepped into the area. All except for Rey, who yawned again and leaned her body against Mitaka, fighting off sleep.

Quietly, Ms. Jade came behind the little girl, tugging at her hair that caused her to almost hiss in pain. Rey pressed her lips together in a tight line to avoid hissing as her foster mother fiddled to braid her long hair, pulling at the knots in jagged strokes with a comb. “Our Lord Jesus Christ loves and protects all.”

“Our Lord Jesus Christ loves and protects all.” All the children, but Rey, repeated.

Ms. Jade squinted her eyes at the youngest, hauling at a different knot that formed tears in Rey’s eyes. “Jesus Christ is our Lord and Savior, watching from the Gates of Heaven.” She placed the comb out on the counter and her hands broke the strands of her hair into three different pieces, twisting the curls to form an irregular fish-tail braid.

The little girl yelped at the pain, saying the same words along with the other children with a hitched breath and gripped the top. She fought every urge to kick the old woman with her small foot with each tug and pull of her hair.

From the first week she arrived with Mitaka, she learned not to roll her eyes when Ms. Jade prepared them for church, on Sundays, or Mondays, or Wednesday, and willingly tried to convey the message of Jesus Christ into their heart. If she did misbehavior during these mini-lessons, it meant being locked inside the nail closet without any meals for a week.

Mitaka was nice to share his meals with her when their foster mother wasn’t looking, it was the only speck of kindness Rey had ever received in her life, but she learned to stay silent to avoid Ms. Jade’s wrath. 

“Jesus Christ forgives our sins and loves us all as his perfect children,” Ms. Jade finished her braid and moved on to the next girl, Cara, to fasten another ill-finished hairstyle. “Jesus Christ saves all those who wander, for he is perfect and we are created in his image.”

Rey thinks about what Ms. Jade will say if she saw her now — roughly eighteen, covered in the cum and sweat not belonging to a husband while selling her body out by the pole to give in to the desires of men.

Ms. Jade would slap her and call her a whore, tell her that Jesus Christ will never save her and no Heavenly being such as God could love her. None could a man ever waste his time on a dirty nobody like her.

She wonders what Mitaka was up to now.

The irony in her thoughts about her Jesus-loving freak of a foster mother isn’t lost on Rey when she looks up above the mirror.

It started as a chuckle before exploding to a full-blown belly laugh and she has to hold herself against the braces of the sink. The intention must have been pure-hearted at best but lost in a place like this, where the sinners, who were prideful in their troubles, ran wild with the lust and greed that fueled their lives.

Over the oval-shaped reflection was a cross — a rustic oak wooden cross that glued a small silver metal body in the center. In the buzzed lighting of the bathroom, Rey could see his hands bound vertically up as Jesus looked to the sky in agony and the painted pigments of blood ran down his face as he cried to his Father to beg all those who have sinned.

“He prays to clear my sins, how sweet.” she chuckled, wetting her bottom lip before taking it in between her teeth. “If there were a God or Jesus Christ, then I would not speak his name in vain now, as Ms. Jade taught me, and have a life of charm and peace.” Her finger taps echoed in the small bathroom. “If Jesus Christ was real, then I would not be living a life of sinful tendencies to survive. My body would not have been violated by the scum of this Earth and I’d be pure and whole.”

Rey giggled, swaying her body to the muffled music playing outside as a method to avoid her tears from falling.

“ _ Help me, tear down my reason. Help me, it’s your sex I can smell. Help me, you make me perfect. Help me become somebody else. _ ”

It doesn’t work.

“There is no God to save my soul,” she exhaled a hiccup. “I am a sinner nobody who already lives in Hell and I am their Queen.”

She lifted up on her toes, extending a hand to carefully rotate the cross upside down on the nail. Rey waited until it was perfectly aligned, smoothing her fingers before the face of Jesus and his thorny crown before falling back to the ground, wiping the tears and snort she produced.

Rey sniffed, grabbing a bundle of toilet paper and turned on the faucet. She splashed some water on her face, wiping away the running make-up that was ruined a mere hour ago. The gravity of what occurred hasn’t hit her yet, keeping the numb fixation of a cold-exterior until she could go home.

There was a knock at the door, gentle enough that she almost didn’t hear it with the music. 

“Just a minute,” she called out in a hoarse voice, trying to remove the damaged evidence of Snoke’s men off her body. The paper broke, leaving behind small wet, tattered pieces on her tanned skin. 

She sighed, throwing it into the trashcan and reached for a wad of dry paper instead when another knock happened. It was harsher than the last as if they used their full fist on the wooden door.

“You can wait a moment,” Rey bit back, stroking the paper across her chest to remove the sticky pale stain of her DNA.

The persistent knocking was making her night worse by the second. If she wasn’t cleaned and ready for Snoke within the hour, then she can kiss her earnings gone for the week and she would fall back into dumpster diving. Whoever they were, fellow dancer or random employee, she didn’t care. Her blood started to boil by the second because she couldn’t even have  _ this  _ time to herself. 

“Were you never taught manners as a child?” Gritting her teeth, she threw the new paper into the trash again and stepped towards the door. 

Rey huffed a sharp breath before unlocking the door and yelled, “How about you shove your fucking hand up your ass and —” The door swung open and any further cussed words she planned on using fell away from her lips.

Her brows wrinkled at the base, surprised to see an expensive-looking black button-down shirt straining to hold on to the thin string. The scope of a black suit-jacket was buttoned at the chest, also wrenching to hold its owner's body in place but she could visibly see the strong outline of defined pecs underneath the clothing.

Slowly, Rey craned her neck up to see who they were. 

Given the way his satin taste of clothing, she knew he wasn’t an employee. His body fit might have lugged her to believe he was a bouncer; fit, tall, well-muscled, and stone-faced like Chewbacca outside, but there’s a soft gaze in his whiskey-molten eyes that crossed that off her list. 

He didn’t behave pompously either with her rude comments, not acting in the manner that the club investors did when they showed up periodically to count and collect their coins from the shipment, then later requesting to see the new girls.

Petals was always excused from serving the old-aged men, at Snoke’s request on the count of still being ‘broken’ in. 

_ He looks sad, _ her mind supplied while gawking at his irregular beauty.

The splatter of constellations adorned his pale face, running down the column of his neck and disappeared under the collar of his black shirt, leaving little to the imagination. 

His plush lips were parted, inhaling with heated breath with his chest rising and falling as if he ran six miles to get to that spot. A black curtain of hair scraped along his forehead and a nervous hand came up to push the lock away, a habit most likely formed years ago. His nose was large but framed to fit his features well.

Rey wonders why she wanted to kiss the tip of his nose and brush those loose strands away. 

The structure of his physique is that of a Godly embodiment such as the Greek Gods she remembered learning about in school.

Yet his eyes, those amber-light hues that never strayed from hers is what drives her in to learn more about who he was, what he was like, what—

_ New client _ , she fully agreed upon and broke the spell they both seemed to be under.

Stepping away, Rey returned into the safety of the restroom and covered her chest with crossed arms, looking down at the floor. The man stood by the doorframe, still as if he were about to scare a startled rabbit.

In this case, Rey was the rabbit and he was the wolf.

“I’m so-sorry for my rude comments, sir,” She cleared her throat. “I can compensate you for the trouble I’ve caused but patrons aren’t supposed to be behind the curtain.” Rey piques her interest for a moment to look at him again and fidgeted under his stare. “However, I can get someone who can—”

His large hand unfasten his suit button and removed it from his shoulders, handing it to her without a second thought or a word spoken by him.

She blinks, keeping her shoulders small and rigid while looking between the jacket and the unnamed man.

Rey learned long ago not to trust any of their clients if they were handing the girls something other than the money in their pockets.

She saw the way his throat bobbed, taking an inch closer towards her and she skidded back with the sink pushed against her back. His footing stopped but his hand remained extended between them, clutching the black suit jacket for her to take but his eyes solely kept on hers — as if he was trying to memorize the contours of her face. 

Rey marvels if she has seen that longing stare before, perhaps once in a dream long ago. 

“I’ll get blood on it,” She pointed out when the silence became too much even with the club music playing close by. 

“That’s why they invented dry-cleaning,” His voice was low, deep to send a chill on her spine. It commanded attention, she was positive about it. Perhaps he was a businessman or important CEO of a known corporation who came seeking some fun for the night with one of the dolls or came sniffing for the white powder. 

“Please,” his voice swayed softly. “Please, take it.”

He didn’t appear to be the type of man who said please very much.

Hesitantly, Rey takes it from his grasp when a small chill engulfs her in goosebumps but she doesn’t know if it’s from the opened door or his gaze.

She thinks it's the latter.

It wasn’t a shock at how huge the jacket sat on her — the sleeves were long and left the buttoned cuffs by her wrist, the length wore down on her mid-thigh, and kept the front flaps to cover her body. The jacket material was soft on her skin, comfortable, and smelled of rich soil that grew the most beautiful roses.

Rey imagined this tall, yet gentle, man gardening in his home before deciding to come out to this part of town.

Either way, the jacket was worth more than she would ever make while working full-time at the club. Too bad it was getting ruined by her blood and the still-wet cum on her stomach. 

His demeanor relaxed when he saw her wearing the suit, shoulders shrugging, and released a sigh, followed by “What’s your name?”

“Petals,” She chirped the conditioned response from the precious men who have asked the same question. 

For a moment, the stranger considers that as an answer before shaking his head. “What’s your real name?”

Her eyebrows furrowed at the question. No one has ever asked her that before — not her clients, dancers, employees, or even Snoke himself. She tilts her head, searching somewhere in his eyes for a clue to understanding where this oddly-friendly conversation could lead towards.

Despite her better judgment in this world, she answered. “Rey.”

The man decides to take this as a proper answer, nodding his head before stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“What’s your?” She couldn’t help but ask.

“Kylo,” He says with confidence, pulling one of his hands out and hands her a black handkerchief. “Kylo Ren.”

She took the second gift without question, holding it in her fingers to feel the gentle cotton fibers. There’s an embellishment she could feel but Rey doesn’t look down to see it. 

“No, that’s not it,” Rey stated before she could think better of it. 

She’s fearful that he might report her bad-mouthing to Snoke but Kylo blinked for a beat, eyes widened for a moment before he schooled his features, looking down at the ground to hide a small grin. 

Rey is upset that he won’t let her see it.

“It’s Ben,” he replied. “Ben Solo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm genuinely a tad afraid of this story, considering this subject matter is something I've never thought about writing and because it became bigger when what I originally intended it to be. DVA is an important cause to me, it always has been even if it's something I don't speak about on my fandom Twitter.
> 
> I would like to point out that I've worked with victims of sexual assault before during college and every reaction is different for victims -- some don't come to terms with it until later while others take action immediately, and some completely block it out. Please don't take Rey's reaction to what happened/what is happening as inhuman due to how quickly she wanted to block it out, it's more normal than you think. I plan Rey on handling her trauma in a chapter soon but we have to get by a few things first.
> 
> I am not a victim of assault, but I know others and have met with others who are. Domestic Violence and Sexual Assault is a huge issue around the world. It's an uncomfortable topic but it still needs to have a voice in this world. Please consider educating yourself to learn the red flags to help you or a loved one. 
> 
> Here are some websites to help:  
> [UN](https://www.un.org/en/events/endviolenceday/)  
>   
> [Break The Cycle](https://www.breakthecycle.org/blog/it%E2%80%99s-national-domestic-violence-awareness-month)  
>   
> [National DV Hotline](https://www.thehotline.org/)  
>   
> [Take A Stand](https://ncadv.org/take-action)  
> And again, please, please, _please_ take care of yourself first if this story is too much. I do plan on having some fluffy moment but there are heavy topics coming in, which will be added to the tags as the story continues.
> 
> [Follow me on the bird app if you'd like for updates or pointless tweets](https://twitter.com/theyellowsaber)


	3. the angel was sad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait! I’ve gone on hiatus from Twitter to focus on school and writing, so I’ve been working on getting a writing routine down for myself during this time. I’m happy to say that I _finally_ am working towards a more detailed outline for Petals, which has been a huge help in finishing this chapter and starting the next one. I still don’t have an exact timeline for my story postings, because I’ve mentioned I like to be chaotic, but we’ll get there at some point!
> 
> I would like to take a moment to appreciate all those who have commented and given kudos to this story. Your support for this tale has been incredible, given the topic and imagery behind it all. Believe me when I say that I _**never** _saw myself writing something like this and it’s something I’m going to keep saying because I’m still surprised and often have to take a step away from this story in order to control my emotions. There’s a lot of heartbreak and a lot of healing that needs to be done, which will be all in good time.__
> 
> __Again, given the subject of this story and its dark tones, I am still learning to better tag and have a detailed trigger list for my readers. Your health and safety will always be my #1 priority. Thank you to those who reached about my trigger list for the last chapter, and I hope I made the correct adjustments, along with this one!_ _
> 
> __[Now, check out this artwork from Darth B!!!](https://twitter.com/sithlordb_26/status/1292948192649076737) 🥺🥺 Petals with her petals ❤️❤️ _ _
> 
> __I also commissioned the lovely[Kyar](https://twitter.com/kyar_vantablack) for these [two beautiful pieces](https://twitter.com/theyellowsaber/status/1310578565793173504) for this chapter!! Thank you so much again, bby!! ❤️❤️ _ _
> 
> __And, of course, major shout-out to my horny bby,[Hooda](https://twitter.com/HoodaWrites) for beta’ing this chapter! Thanks for putting up with my shit and feeding me them crumbs. _ _
> 
> __**Triggers**  
>  Child Abuse   
>  Religion Symbolism   
>  Violence on a Female   
>  Workplace Harassment   
>  Workplace Sexual Harassment   
> _ _

Ms. Jade made Rey drink Holy Water from the Church’s stoup when she’s six. That occurs after she crawled the steps of the building on her knees until nightfall, reciting Philippians 4 while she bled and left her mark on the stone. 

It wasn’t until she was older that she understood the gravity of her punishment and why Ms. Jade, and the Pastor, forced her to repent so cruelly.

In all fairness, it was an innocent act she committed as a young child and not the heinous crime that her foster mother, or Pastor Binks, made it out to be.

Unlike the other children, who often left Room #3 covered in sticky glue, macaroni shells, and paint stains, Rey’s given an hour of Arts and Crafts every third Wednesday of the month.

“Jesus Christ would not have wanted your mind to flutter away and rot by the likes of art and television.” Ms. Jade mumbled about the dangers of the lust-tainted box, parading about unholy images, and how all the entertainment she needed was in the Bible, riddled with highlighter yellow lines and pink sticky-notes.

But drawing was the only other thing that made her happy. It was right there at the top of her list along with tending to the small garden back home with Mitaka, although the older chubby boy wasn’t very good at it.

He often killed the vegetable patch, leaving them black and rotten from the core.

“Your mind is a sponge at this young age, Rey. We can’t have it adulterated with the fruitless lies of this world like creativity and imagination. What would that bring?” Ms. Jade commented once, huffing her breath when Rey had asked for more time to complete her drawing of a rhinoceros wearing a pink tutu, like it was something absurd. 

It was her best work yet and Rey wanted to show Mitaka what she created when they got home, but Ms. Jade crumpled it before she could save it.

“Jesus Christ sends angels to protect all his children, even the lone dandelion on top of a hill.” The older woman settled a large box of colorful crayons and markers in front of her. “Draw your guardian angel, thank them for watching over you, and afterward, we shall show Pastor Binks.”

When she returned within the hour — Pastor Binks tagging shortly behind—Ms. Jade shirked over the image. “What on blessed ground is that?!”

Rey knitted her brows over her foster mothers’ horror, looking down at the inked marks that she put her energy into making perfect. 

She was proud of her work.

The angel stood tall in a luscious black field of blue and pink forget-me-nots, hair swept into a crown featuring pairs of babies-breath to create a halo — as if someone who loved him deeply took extra care to place them. 

He dressed in dark robing trimmed in the finest gold lace that Rey could imagine, sewed with purple-toned gemstones at the shoulder and hip waist. She could picture the material shimmering silver under the pale moon, glistening to a crimson shade to match his inner emotions before falling to ebony and the rare lilac.

Although her angel wore a simple crown of flowers, different superior pieces of jewelry adorned his body, rivaling what the richest person in the world could afford. Rey thinks his gems and gold were much more unique than what the eye could see. 

They were rare trinkets, things that the world has yet to witness because current technology couldn’t reach so far deep into the Earth’s core. Rey was positive that she had seen those jewels once, possibly even wore them too.

“Why doesn’t he have wings?” Paster Binks asked in his heavy accent, leaning over to see the picture. Rey couldn’t see the snarl he made or how his hand reached deep into his pocket to clutch the small cross inside. 

She only focused on the image of her angel.

“God was very mean and ripped his pretty wings. He didn’t say sorry,” Her tone shifted to anger, pointing to the black taut on his back. “God and the other angels blamed him for a mistake he didn’t do and sent him down to a very dark place...”

Pastor Binks stepped away from the child, stating bible verses, and held the cross out. He pointed it to her as Ms. Jade hid behind him and hissed, “The spawn of Lucifer.”

She didn’t understand why God was so mean to her angel. If God intended to be almighty and show love to all his creations, like Ms. Jade said he was, then why did God do such a nasty thing to her angel?

It wasn’t his fault to begin with, Rey was positive about that.

A deep blush heated her cheeks, running down her neck and colored her temples, mimicking the black and white horned goat monster she had seen in paintings before. There’s a fury building within her chest, manifesting in shallow breaths as she tries to control her rage and lifts the hairs on her neck and forearms, crimson traveling in anger through her veins and colored her sockets in the same shade.

She heard the raffling of window blinds slapping against the pebble foundation of the structure, scattering three of the six windows and sending broken glass pieces flying everywhere. She thinks Ms. Jade had screamed, running out of Room #3 when Pastor Binks circled around her small table of markers and aimlessly tossed Holy Water from a bottle he kept. Different hues of crayons pelted the Pastor, markers lining his exposed skin and soaring through the sky to rip holes in his garments.

Yet as quickly as her fury began, scattering the structure of the Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus, it vanished when she stared at the amber shade of the angel's eyes that she worked so hard to get just right.

“He’s sad,” Rey said as a matter-of-fact, tracing her finger mindlessly over the flared scar going down his right eye. 

Somehow, she’s aware that the disfigurement blemish on his skin claimed him to her. 

“My angel is lonely without his angel friends,” Her lips deepened into a frown with her next set of words. “I think he had an angel wife too.”

“And where is she, the angel’s wife?” Pastor Binks questioned before resuming his verse of dispelling evil, panting from his efforts. 

Rey blinked, staring down at the colored drawing with a sadness she couldn’t comprehend at her young age. “She’s away...”

It was her angel that gave Ms. Jade enough momentum to issue an inquiry with the agency and demand her removal within the month.

“I will not harbour the Devil’s child in my home!” Rey heard the older woman howl into the phone receiver late that same night. She shouldn’t have been awake—they had Mass in the morning — but she needed to change the bandages on her knees. The current ones had already bled through during her restless sleep while she dreamt of a thick pair of arms roping her in love while she cried. 

“Mark my words, that child will cause rain to turn into flame and burn this world to the ground. Everything that Jesus Christ had made pure and worthy in this Earth will disappear!”

She hasn’t thought about the guardian angel incident in years, lost in the valley of unfortunate childhood memories, faded with the blotched scars on her knees, but Mr. Ren prompts her to remember all the details that had once been fuzzy, sharp and clear as he was.

It’s strange how Rey, dressed in his tailored black jacket, wondered if Kylo Ren could be the angel from her drawing.

The comparison between the two was uncanny the more Rey looked to Mr. Ren’s features. 

She reminded herself that one was real, standing right in front of her while the other had been a mere figment of her developing imagination, lost in the instructions of those older than her. No matter how much she believed him to be real as a child, her angel was not; there was no Godly being who protected her above, nor had he sent an angel to watch over her. 

Kylo even wore the same scar running down his right eye. It matched the placement of the drawing, except he had a faint pink blemish against the pale nature of his skin, contrasting against the dark spots that she could connect with a finger. Her angel possessed his line of gold with pride, like a rite of passage he willfully accomplished in ancient times.

What captivated her concentration wholesomely was the eyes of Ben Solo.

They’re shaded in the same brilliant whiskey-amber lighting she worked so hard to achieve with the right wrist stroke and colored-marker as a child. His eyes were ancient, flittering with secrets that wouldn’t be said to a wandering soul except to the one he holds dear in his heart. With their silence, his eyes darkened to a deep stormy hazel when he lingered on her for too long, alternating to reflect his mood.

But it was his body language that Rey picked up quickly, despite the smoldering look of his eyes that demanded her attention. Even when she averted her gaze back to Mr. Ren, under her glance, though, Ben Solo fidgeted with nerves.

The man was indecisive, unable to keep his enormous hands inside his pockets or out. His black locks disheveled from its perfectly structured quaff to an untidy mess with the constant twitch of his fingers raking back the hair before it returned to fan his face. 

In the low lighting, she glimpsed deep tan lines on his left ring finger — bronzed and missing a beloved band. Kylo reached to rub the skin absentmindedly before realizing the supposed wedding ring was no longer there.

Rey thinks his wife, or husband, must be up wondering where Ben was at this late hour, if they were still alive. The tan lines seemed fresh from the removal of a nice, elegantly simple ring. She thinks he’d wear an onyx ring, with a thread of small red gems going around the crystal. At least there was somebody who cared for him, if the latter wasn’t true.

The awkward man stuffs his hands into the pockets of his trousers after much deliberation, working his jaw to maul his thoughts, inching to say something but offers nothing.

She marvels at the same gloominess of her angel dawdling in the core of his hues, brightening with something she hadn’t seen before in her drawing years prior — hope.

“Please; I would prefer it if you called me Mr. Ren in public,” he implored in the safety of the dingy bathroom, clearing his throat to stand tall. The narrow door frame made him look like a giant. She didn’t have to say it, but Kylo Ren was, in fact, ginormous in her eyes. Rey wasn’t short by the average standard, or petite despite the skinniness of her nature because of lack of food and nourishment, yet she knew that Kylo dwarfed her with no effort. 

Breaking away from their conversation, she nods and turns to face the mirror. Using the black handkerchief he supplied, she wipes away the left-over mascara residue under her eyes and tiny tissue pieces.

Her grip on the cloth tightens when he steps closer into the space, eyes growing with fear. Rey clenches the front of the jacket she wore as a safety blanket, afraid that he might take it away from her and expose his true nature like the other men of the Empire. Mr. Ren, however, wasn’t close enough to touch her, but the heat of his chest penetrated the thick layer of the jacket, coating her back in warmth. 

It astounded Rey at what she saw when they locked eyes in the mirror.

Regardless of the runny black ink and bruising fingerprints on her neck, they were a picture perfect silhouette of regal. 

Vividly as if the reflection twisted to fit her imagination, Rey saw Kylo wearing a deep grey crown on top of his black hair. The crown reverberated an obscured glow from the glistening crystals at the top of each pointed spike, small specks of rubies between the charoite and shungite gems paying tribute to the robes he’d wear as a true darkling king of the underground. 

Beside the aristocratic male, Rey’s fitted in a white crown with rounded cusps holding yellow jasper and pink opal stones in the shape of ever-changing flowers; sunflowers, poppies, violets, lilies and more. At the base, a moonstone glimmered in a light glow to parallel the embedded clear jewels on her collarbones and ran down her chest to shape a shimmery gown that swayed to a deep lilac with the movement of her body.

She blinked and the illusion of the monarchy's reflection disappeared, bringing back the reality of her life to the forefront. Mr. Ren eyed her with genuine worry, a slight fondness trifled in his pupils as he slowly lowered his head to her shoulder blade.

Her back stiffened, and her hands trembled in anticipation of his demands.

Kylo Ren was well within his right as a patron of the Empire to pay for her services if he wished to do so. But she was sore and beyond exhausted, far too tired for any one person to enjoy.

Sensing her hesitation, his lips hovered over the clothed skin and looked at Rey from the mirror — almost as if he was waiting for permission, permission from  _ her _ . The word  _ permission _ didn’t exist in a world like the Empire, yet something in the pit of her stomach told her that Kylo Ren is not a man who waited for permission. 

No; Mr. Ren looked like a man who greedily took what he wanted without authorization of another. As if he was the sin of greed embodied in a person.

For a moment, she remembered one of her English lessons from high school — the story of Hades and Persephone from the old Greek myths. It said that the God of Death dragged his wife-to-be down to the depths of his kingdom without regard to the consequences, tricking her to eat the fruit of the Underworld so Persephone may linger in the dark realm for four months out of the year. A tale of greed and desire that ends with the beginning of winter, a freak of nature phenomenon that she always enjoyed despite the lack of warm clothing and holiday cheer.

Somehow she doesn’t think the story was ever accurate to begin with.

Clearing his throat again, Kylo spoke softly. “I would like to keep my privacy if you don’t mind, Rey.” He spoke her name in a whisper. It tickled her neck with a breath of tenderness that hasn't been gifted to her before. 

She realizes Ben was reserving their conversation in hushed tones to keep the secret between them rather than the eager eavesdroppers outside. Like he knew something could lead her to danger.

Confirming her suspicions, a blur of a sparkly lemon two-piece ruffles rushed across the mirror from the opened door. It must have been Honey Pie listening in, as she was the only one wearing yellow tonight.

Rey once overheard the veteran dancers placing bets on how many times they can get her in trouble with Snoke and violate club policy — or rather, the private policy that he placed solely for his dancers.

One wrong word with a client and they would alert Snoke, his punishment prepared before she has a chance to explain.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

_

_ “Stupid girl,” Snoke had articulated over the loud club music. He had raised his hand and slapped her with a force that knocked her down to the sticky floor, iron flooding her mouth and curious glares from nearby clients. _

_ “If the gentlemen pay to snort coke off your small tits, then you fucking let him. I don’t care if he wants to fuck your ass too while he’s at it.” He had bared his teeth, reaching down to strip her of the borrowed top before looking back at the guest, changing his tone. “I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Palpatine. Petals is not yet properly trained. Might I offer any of our girls instead? Free for your troubles.” _

_ Mr. Palpatine had snarled down at the new girl who covered her breasts with folded arms, tears on the verge of falling, and gave a slight hum. “I will take the inexperienced bitch for now, teach her to show her breasts to a loyal Empire client, but I must urge you to break her in. Having an untrained girl is bad for business, you know.” _

_ “Of course,” Snoke nodded, looking back at Petals with a predator's thirst in his eyes. “I will see to it myself.” _

_ Petals was not fully versed in the rules and expectations of the club when Snoke brought his hand down the first time. When she wandered into the Empire seeking a job, he hired her the same night without explanation of her role or a proper interview. _

_ The dancers had stopped laughing at Rey long enough to attack her with sharp nails, ripping apart the already tattered clothing she wore, and pushed her nude body throughout the club until reaching the primary office.  _

_ “What do you think, Snoke?” J’Adore plucked rose petals from her hair with a giggle, twisting it in her fingers. “We even have a name for her too.” _

_ Snoke peaked from the paperwork to give her a full-frontal look-over. Rey squirmed under his glare, trying to cover her body, but Daisy Jones and Lucy Kitty had her arms down at the sides, digging their nails into her skin deep enough to draw blood.  _

_ “Please, can I have my clothes back?” she begged. They didn’t listen. _

_ His beady eyes lingered on her body for far longer than she was comfortable with, squinting at every deep scar on her flesh before standing up and taking measured steps towards her. _

_ No one had ever seen Rey naked before, not since Ms. Jade made the girls shower outside with buckets of cold water and a thin rag.  _

_ Clean, cold wrinkled hands came to cup her breasts, thumb rolling over her nipples until it hardened. She tried backing away from his grasp, but Daisy Jones and Lucy Kitty kept her in place. _

_ With a hum, Snoke had looked over her shoulder, leaning forward to grab a handful of her small ass. He scoffed after giving the flesh a slap, pulling back with distaste. _

_ “Small. But she’ll do it as a replacement. Looks legal enough, too.” the old man grumbled, tugging her nipple before reverting to his seat. “Clean her up and make her presentable, wash that awful smell off of her. Get rid of the brush too, make the new bitch spotless and ready for tonight.” _

_ He had reclined on the leather seat. “I don’t care if she’s on the pole or on her knees, just get her out there.” _

_ The girls followed his orders without remorse. They dragged her into the dressing room and branded Petals as their new pet project to share, giggling with a new fondness for enthusiasm. They pulled her into the private shared bathroom, pushing her under the showerhead to scrub away the dirt and grime off her body with a coconut wash that burned her nose and removed her public hair with a fresh razor.  _

_ The girls each took turns assaulting her with questions as they worked endlessly on their ‘improvements’. _

_ “Have you never shaved a day in your life, Petals?” Diamond Star asked dryly, nipping her calf skin on purpose. _

_ “I—” _

_ “Petals, did you truly sleep under a bridge? You surely smelled like one of the homeless folks.” Daisy Jones rolled her eyes, lathering her hair with an aloe-based shampoo. _

_ “Well—” _

_ “How could you still have so many flower buds in your hair, Petals? What a genuine freak of nature you are!” J’Adore rubbed the soap over her arms, letting it run down her thighs. _

_ “But I—” _

_ “Petals, have you ever even kissed somebody before?” Honey Pie laughed, making kissy faces while fitting her into a borrowed orange-colored outfit for the night. _

_ Rey blushed and couldn’t find an answer. _

_ “Have you never taken care of your skin before, Petals? There’s so much sun damage and horrible freckles, I don’t know how I’ll cover this mess up.” Mary Bells huffed, covering her face in some goop and powder that suddenly made her skin itchy. _

_ “I couldn’t—” _

_ “Five minutes to show time, girls!” Sugar Lips stomped into the dressing room, coming to her vanity and touched up her perfect make-up. _

_ “But what exactly am I supposed to do?” Petals questioned while Mary Bells applied a crimson paint to her lips. _

_ “Oh,” Sugar Lips offered a coy smile. “Just take the money and be a pretty doll for our guests.” _

_ She thought it could be easy to stand around in uncomfortably tight heels and be the pretty doll that she’s supposed to be in skimpy clothes. _

_ Petals didn’t understand that Sugar Lips implied performing certain activities that she once thought existed in the fantasy realm of porn and R-Rated films from the shady corner stores near her foster homes. _

_ “Told you she couldn’t survive the night,” Diamond chuckled with Lucy as they counted their money backstage. Mr. Palpatine had just excused Petal’s from his presence, after using her chest as a serving tray for his voice of drug. _

_ Snoke had waited outside of the private suite. He had grabbed Petals by the hair and lauded her towards his office with his bodyguards in tow. “Stupid brat almost cost us our best client tonight.” _

_ “Ouch! That hurts!” She fought against his grip, trying to signal for help, but the other dancers ignored her, turning their backs to the newcomer. Petals did her best to keep up with his quick steps, but she tripped over the chunky heels that were a size too small.  _

_ He growled, bringing another hand down to her cheek. His ring created a cut on her bottom lip. “You’re a lucky bitch that I could smooth that brief hiccup of yours over, or else you wouldn’t have to worry about keeping a job.” _

_ Snoke let go of her hair and snapped his fingers. Suddenly, one of the masked guards lifted her up and carried her into the office, throwing Petals on the sofa. She didn’t have a chance to recover when the first punch hit her square in the face and she heard something crack. _

_ “Be careful around that pretty face of hers, boys.” He grinned, taking a seat in his leather throne like the made-up king he was; tips of his fingers kissing together. “Rough her up. But remember: I still have merchandise to sell.” _

_ Later that night, Rey loaded the bus wearing clothing from the lost and found with a busted lip, a dislocated shoulder, and a broken nose.  _

_ The broken bones mended overtime. They only hurt whenever it rains. _

_

Dipping her chin down to avoid his intense gaze from the mirror, Rey nods. “I understand, Mr. Ren,” Her attention fell to the green wig she left inside the sink, picking through the thick strands of dyed fibers that tangled between her fingers. 

“Kylo is just fine,” Ben mumbles. He returns to his previous spot by the door frame. 

Her shoulders relax and she shrugs a sigh to ease the rapid heartbeat in her chest. 

Abiding to the conducts of her position, staying only with a client for an hour, or the whole night, was part of the deal. It’s a mundane task that requires her to play the doe-eyed little slut until they forked over the cash and unzip their pants. Rey admits that she has it easier than the other girls with the different serving options the Empire offers to regular guests. While she was on the menu for pleasures of the mouth and hands, with the display of full-frontal, the other dancers were free-play for anything else.

Each of the girls took turns at the glory hole hall in the third restroom by the stage during every shift, resulting in extra cash flow for the club rather than their pockets.

Except Petals because Snoke wanted her  _ untainted  _ in the ways of their questionable guests.

_ “You're my favorite girl,” He reminds her each night, pressing a wet kiss to her neck that smells of Jack Daniels and garlic. _

There have been a few times where clients got annoyed with her simple offers, stating that they’ll pay extra to ‘fuck her until next Monday’ on the same sofa they sat on. Those clients were handy and willing to bend the rules until the guards came around to escort them out of the club. They’d return the following day, paying their dues, a small fee for their large pockets, and going back to the other girls without another glance at Petals.

She had feared it would become a similar situation with Mr. Ren. 

But with him moving away and the silence falling between them, it felt almost heartening — like he was doing what he could to grant her comfort. There’s also a familiarity to the peaceful quiet. There wasn’t a need to filter the air with typical polite nonsense or for her to use the flirt bumble she applied to other guests.

It’s a delightful change.

Rey went about washing any remaining smudges but sneers at the thought of spoiling his expensive handkerchief.

She pulled the black cloth away from her skin, undoing the folded square to reveal the full design. Trimmed silver laced edges reflected in the dim lighting. There’s a swirl of tiny flowers that arrange the lace to appear delicate; swarms of daffodils, mayweeds, buttercups, and chamomiles circled the cloth with a single red thread connecting through them. 

The flowers danced, shimmering to alternate and change colors to a holographic palette until it led her to the bottom-left-hand corner. Interwoven in the majestic rag was an embossed ‘ _ P _ ’, sprouting to appear like a black rose with open petals that revealed a small lilac crystal playing as the scented bud. 

Rey thinks it's a tiny lepidolite stone.

Her thumb rolled over the lifted image and followed the silver string adorning the rose. It's a fetching piece, well-worn to show its age but preserved with care to make such an item everlasting and beloved. 

She furrows her brows at the base and folds the cloth back into a perfect square, careful to follow the wrinkled lines.

Although the modern complexities of gender norms are being challenged by society, Rey couldn’t figure out why Mr. Ren carried this frame handkerchief around with him. The style was old-fashioned, used mostly by the older gentlemen who used to wipe the leftover cum off their pants. It was far too feminine for the likes of him.

_ Perhaps it had belonged to his wife,  _ her mind supplies as she slightly turned to face him. 

His hands were back inside his pockets, but Rey had seen the tan lines earlier. It’s no mistake he’s in an unhappy marriage with the wrong person or his partner passed away long ago and now Mr. Ren was trying to fill the void with the use of other women.

She tries not to ponder over him being around the other dancers who were more experienced in service of his size and potential kinks. She can see the girls taking turns to drape their bodies over him, moving their hips in the name of attention and cash with his money stuffed in their thongs. 

A tint of red rush across her cheeks and her hands trembled with ire. He raised an eyebrow as he watched.

No; Rey was not jealous or angry. Mr. Ren, Kylo, Ben Solo — whatever and whoever he wanted to be at Empire — was within his right to do with the gifted pleasure as he wished. She had no authority over him.

Rey only just  _ met _ him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ben spoke softly. He motioned his chin towards her clenched fingers when her head turned to him. “You can keep the handkerchief and the jacket if you desire.” He said the ending quickly, wishing to assure her of the decision. 

Rey blinks, flickering her eyes between the cloth and Ben slowly. “I’ll have them washed for you, Mr. Ren.”

The dry cleaning bill is another item she couldn’t afford, not without giving Snoke a double blow job in the same night. But Rey boosted the borrowed handkerchief with a small wave of her hand. “I have a feeling this is a very cherished item of yours.”

His pillowy lips don’t reach his ears when he smiles. There’s a small twinkle of sadness playing in his eyes when Ben looks away as he shook his head. “Petals,” his voice strains. “I must insist you keep it.”

Pressing her lips together in a tight line, Rey nods when Ben returns his glance in her direction.

She’s surprised at what she sees.

Though Ben had greeted her with a radiancy of courteous, he wore a stern mask of protection — mostly for himself; she figured. Yet in those few seconds, years of loneliness and heartbreak shattered the cold exterior.

All for the mention of a special handkerchief.

Rey won’t argue with him, not when she has to look away from his scorching eyes. She’ll drop the subject until his items are cleaned and then Ben will have no choice but to take them back. 

Resuming to her original task, she didn’t need the mirror to feel his eyes on her, watching in silence. 

After a while she sees his ancient eyes peeling away on the glass reflection and Ben peers at the immoral placement of the cross. His lips quiver to suppress a chuckle, quickly covering as a cough to hide his amusement. 

Ben doesn’t comment on the cross.

Time withered in their quietness. The club music still bounced off the dry wood, another Rihanna song playing for patrons while employees were shouting orders to one another backstage.

If it had been five minutes or twenty years, it felt the same in his presence; comfort.

“I have just one request of you,” Ben waited until she completed washing off the dried fluids from her body, having looked away when she went lower down her bruised neck. 

At least he was polite enough to wait before asking.

Taking a deep breath, Rey stifles a hard gulp before rotating back around to Ben. She chews on her bottom lip to keep it from wobbling, shrugging the jacket off her shoulders, and held the lapels to cover her chest for longer. Her eyes forecast down to her bare shifting feet, covered in sticky dirt, not seeing the frown that Ben gives her. “Payment is required before—”

Hastily, Ben steps forward with his long legs to pull the layer back on her skin and fastens the buttons with precise fingers. “That’s not what I meant. I—” He sighs, jaw working, and stares into her eyes before looking down at her bruised neck.

“Then what is it you want, Mr. Ren?” Her eyes narrow, adjusting her arms into the long sleeves.

His hands lift to flatten the wrinkled pattern of the shoulder blades before thinking better of it and shoves his hands back into the pockets, but Ben stays close. 

“Don’t go to him tonight,” he finally says, looking directly in her eyes. 

“Excuse me?” She considers him with narrowed eyes.

“Snoke,” Ben doesn’t hesitate, ignoring her obvious flinch at the name. “If I hadn’t made myself clear, then I apologize for that.”

Through gritting teeth, Rey forces a thin-lined smile. “You have made yourself perfectly clear, Mr. Ren.” She thrusts him aside, ignoring the burning tingle at the center of her palm from where she touched his chest. For a largely muscled man, he didn’t put up a fight but followed her shove instead, stepping to the side when she came with a wagging finger. “Unless you pay for my time, which I have not seen, then I am under no obligation, as per Empire standards, to follow or proceed with your request.” From being this close, Rey could smell the pomegranate-scented cologne on his skin and it makes her prime to kiss his neck, wanting to savor the flavor, but she pushes the thought away. 

She doesn’t know how Mr. Ren knew about the invisible platinum chain that links her to Snoke or the defiling club, but Rey wasn’t interested in finding out either. She refuses to become another Melody, another rotting corpse with glazed eyes.

Rey heads towards the door, keeping her eyes on the too-tall man, who looks like a hurt puppy, while grabbing the forgotten green wig from the skin.

Ben catches her wrist when she’s centimeters away from the door frame. It’s a feather-light grip that startles her, chest rising with quick breaths and eyes growing in alarm, waiting for the next move. The same scorching touch returns, but it’s more profound with an electrical stroke of faint remembrance manifesting in small round dots on her forearms. 

Her fingers grip his thumb at their own accord, but she’s too afraid to do anything, shaking in fear yet frozen in place like a deer in headlights. 

_ Maybe he’ll let me go if he has his way with me — just like the guards  _ she thinks, muscles tense in fright. 

“Please.” His voice is unsteady, as if struggling to plead with an unperceived wave of concern and bubbling anger at the cusp of his tone. The word stung at her chest, piercing the rhythmic beat of her heart that hammers against her skin.

Rey views him cautiously from over her shoulder, hand still in his much larger one. She sees the way he swallows to hold back, his amber-bleeding eyes telling her everything and also nothing at all of his centuries old soul. 

“Let me help you, Rey.” He talks so softly, the feeling of his hand becoming icy cold rather than the blazing heat — almost like a blue flame. It’s an affirmation that blurs her vision, obscuring the chiseled and sincere structure of his features, highlighting them in a fog of unushered tears.

No one has ever wanted to help her. And if they did, it was to gain something for themselves. All help comes with a price; it’s a lesson she has spent her life learning and relearning. Yet looking at Ben, holding his gaze and touching his soft hand, she wonders what if —

“Where is that stupid bitch?” Snoke barks, slithering his voice like a snake over the sultry music. 

“She’s in the bathroom with an unauthorized client!” some girls chime in song together, giggling, but the pounding sounds of his footsteps overshadow the feminine snickering.

Her ears roar with increasing panic, immediately releasing her hold on his thumb, but Ben was adamant about clenching her wrist, moving her behind him, and eyes becoming dark, protective almost, and scary. 

“Please!” She rushes out, trying to tug away, but his grip tightens, not painfully yet strong enough to keep her there. “Ben, Kylo, please, just let me go. I—”

“Will you let me help you?”

“This is not that time for that discussion, just please!” The growing anxiety in her chest closes off her throat, breathing becoming difficult because of the booming fear in her veins. Rey wasn’t in Snoke’s office, ready and with her open legs on the desk, prepared to let him enjoy what he wants and paint her chest in his milky cum. 

The inevitability of trouble hangs in the air, ignited with the truth that Ben will get caught in the fire, most likely going toe-to-toe with the guards while Snoke deals with her behind closed doors and muffle her screams. 

Ben doesn’t glimpse away from the door, asking firmly, “Do I have your permission?”

Her jaw falls to answer as if prepared to fight him for his outrage question because  _ of course,  _ he doesn’t have her permission, but a cold chill runs up her spine when she hears his voice.

“Ah, there you are.” Snoke smiles, flashing his bright yellow teeth under the lighting. He steps into the restroom, hands clasped behind his golden robe that dragged along the floor, the one he wears when he’s walking on the floor to inspect his merchandise. 

The old man isn’t pleased in the slightest, if the way he grins tells her anything.

His eyes observe the oversized jacket on her shoulders and trace over the long-sleeves and fasten buttons and where their hands connect. She has broken the full-frontal rule the club has in place for its dancers.

She gulps under his gaze, looking at the ground. 

“I apologize for any inconvenience she may have caused you, sir.” Snoke hums, tilting his head to the side as he regards Kylo with a new interest. “Our Petals seems to be the barrel of trouble around here.”

Ben narrows his eyes, looking at Snoke before noticing the guards standing behind. “None whatsoever.” He gives her wrist one last squeeze, thumb rubbing the surface before loosening his grip. It sends chills down her spine. “She has… brought my attention to the many offerings of the Empire, those that I plan to enjoy tonight.” He offers a thin-lined smirk, a contrast to Snoke’s snarl. 

“I see,” He coils flatly, knuckles cracking against the electrical bass. “Then I am positive you will locate what it is you seek with our voluptuous ladies.”

“It must be my lucky night because I already have.” 

They nearly stood at the same height, Snoke having an advantage of being a few inches taller than Ben. But the same dangerous glare played in their irises, a bristling cloud of men with tricks and schemes up their sleeves, blood staining both their palms. Their eyes never sway from the other, as a lion would when hunting.

“Petals,” Snoke breaks the silence. “I do recall we have a meeting.” His glances wavers from Ben, a glint of warning burning in the center of his eyes as if telling her not to cross him tonight. He never directs his anger towards clients, only to his employees, which is mostly her. “On disciplinary matters.”

“Y-yes, sir.” Rey inhales to control the tremble of her hands, stepping aside and arms looping around her chest, wig still in her grasp. She cast her eyes downward to the ground, counting the sapphire tiles with each pace to avoid the quivering in her legs. “I—”

Ben sticks his arm out, her body crashing into the forearm, and she quickly grabs hold to avoid falling over. His stance doesn’t budge, keeping himself rooted in his spot but also preventing her from stumbling over.

“I’m afraid you will have to reschedule.”

Her head snaps towards him, fingers digging into the sleeve of his shirt and eyes widening, pleading with Ben from this small distance, but his gaze remains on Snoke, who only regards him with a raised brow. 

Surely, this oddly understanding, gentle and tall man couldn’t have a death wish on his head. Rey doesn’t understand why she wants to laugh at the thought.

Snoke chuckles, then it becomes a boisterous laugh unlike any that Rey has seen from him before. His mouth is wide open, hands snaking around his belly to hold himself up, then gestures the guard to laugh with him. They join in when the alligator tears leak from his eyes, swiping them away with a boney, spotted finger. 

“Thank you for the laugh, Mr...?”

“Ren.” Ben says coldly. “Kylo Ren. Now may we get back to business?”

Snoke’s amusement simmers, lips pressing together to carve into a deep frown. His chin rises again, danger glowing in his sunken eyes when Ben’s arm tightens around Rey. Her knees buckle with fear, but he continues to hold her up as if he weren’t planning on leaving her side.

“Before you and the animals you call guards barged in, Petals was informing me of her pleasure menu and rates.” Ben pulls her behind his massive back, shoving her with an authoritative shove, and she loses the clutched wig. It landed near his shoes. “As one of my privileges for having familial ties to this esteemed venture, I will purchase her time for my own discretions; before, during, and after club hours.” His voice dares Snoke to challenge him, commanding the attention of everyone in the vicinity. “Tonight and for the next month. One of your goons will meet my driver outside and collect the cash.”

“Familial, you said?” Snoke smirks, shaking his head. “I am the sole owner of this club, Mr. Ren, and I don’t have any children.”

A smug grin inches on Ben’s face. “Vader is my grandfather.” 

Rey mouths the name, the silent pronunciation heavy on her tongue. It feels strange when she thinks about it, never having heard the name since working there. It's like a code between the men, something that shouldn’t have been mentioned in their sinful four walls. She peers to the side, keeping herself small behind Ben, and leans forward to grip her fingers on the soft material of his shirt. 

There’s no denying the sudden alarm that cultivates Snoke’s attention, right eye twitching with unresolved anger, but he smiles, adverting his tone to suppress his true, raging emotions. “Shall I grant one of our private rooms for your entertainment? Our beautiful Sugar Lips will cater to your every whim and desire.”

“You must have misheard me over the music, so I will repeat myself; I am purchasing Petal’s time, and  _ only _ her time.” 

His hands loop behind. “I would have expected the grandson of Vader to enjoy the company of a more experienced girl and not the expertise of one so….” His eyes find her and she retreats from his view. “Timid.” Snoke spits the word out with disgust.

“My preferences in women are none of your concern.” Ben argues, taking a few steps to align with Snoke’s stance, careful with Rey behind, but his body heated with fury; the fire seeping through to her palms. “You know, I can take whatever I want.” His eyes narrow, fists balling tight to show the profound white in his knuckles. 

The Praetorian Guards shift, gloved hands digging to locate the hidden weapons inside the crimson jackets they wear, and wait for Snoke’s signal. She knew it would be a bloodshed if Snoke opened his mouth, ready to paint the small bathroom in a client’s blood rather than let him continue an outburst, no matter how fat their pockets were.

Finding purchase, her fingers gracefully brush the nape of his neck; thumb and forefinger grabbing small tonsils of ebony to push aside. “Mr. Ren,” she says smoothly, biting down on the small quiver of her bottom lip. She steps from behind his body, touching his bicep with a gentle patience, palm running the length of his clothed skin. 

His false name doesn’t draw his attention, keeping a tough exterior and focus on Snoke, eyes roaming to the vigilant men behind. She sees the gears in his head turning, sizing each guard with a dual golden fire in his irises that glows in a perfect rim. 

Trembling, her head picks up and Rey stands between Ben and the danger behind, squeezing to get his attention and speaks when his honey-glazed eyes turn.

The broken specks of crimson fades when he sees her, color returning to the deep brown she laid witness to before. The change in his hues doesn’t alarm her, not when his expression softens; as if he can see through her faults and plans to press those pillowy lips on each of her scars. She ignores the unanticipated hunger that implodes her stomach, tongue darting to wet her lips; his eyes observing her movements.

“You can have me...” She whispers her permission, the answer from his earlier question. Rey never lingers off his features, captivated by the relief that encircles his presence, which makes him younger right before her eyes. 

The tip of her fingers slowly raced down his arm. Time ignored in favor of this small moment between them. Her thumb caresses his fist, heat dissipating until they loosen and she intertwines their fingers; a visible jolt of electricity hurries down her spine with their point of contact — a small gasp escapes as her body becomes a home for a land field of goosebumps. 

She doesn’t know how long they stand like this; a calmness sweeping through their bones and hearts, longing to sync under one beat. Something about this feels ancient, mesmerizing, and written in a language she doesn’t know. When Ben grants her the briefest of smiles, it causes her chest to flutter and palpitate with a quick hasten.

Rey finds the strength to tear from his angelic features, mouth dry and urging her heart to stop its heavy beating against her breast. 

Her slim fingers clutches his tighter when she looks up to Snoke’s sunken expression, lips locked in a snarl and eyes spelling trouble. For as much as she hates the old man, Rey knew that he was working on forming a plot for them; a device of torture to cause severe suffering, but all the most amusing for him.

But unlike his typical behavior of given deliberation, Snoke gestures them to leave the room with a swipe of his palm upward and he smiles, yellow teeth and all — unscathed without a word or finger response given to his guard of untrained, ravishing dogs. Her body shivers at his unspoken statement, pulling Ben close as she leads him out of the bathroom with the Praetorian Guard forming two straight lines; like she’s rushing to her death with an opened casket nearby.

Despite the hefty smells of pot, other drugs, and straight liquor, the air becomes more freeing as they continue their path towards the vacant private rooms, wiggling through the crowd and Ben stepping close to offer a protective shoulder. She’s unwilling to look over her shoulder or turn to face the daggers the dancers sent her way from the pole. 

Not until the door clicked with an audible lock, music muffled from the cushion between the walls. 

“I don’t need saving, Mr. Ren.” Her voice wobbles as she tries to remain confident, shaking fingers undo the buttons and pushes the jacket off her shoulders until it lands on the ground. Her skin pebbles from the cold air, visible bruises forming on her body, and mental scars that wouldn’t heal under a night. “You will get what you paid for, sir.”

Ben sighs but doesn’t respond, standing by the door frame as he did in the bathroom. Rey does not turn around to see his sad eyes, the ones that make her heart shatter with their amber rim turning a stormy brown. His looming aspect comes closer and reaches down to grab the jacket again.

She waits for his instructions, biting her lip to control the overwhelming need to cry. A watery gasp parts her lips when Ben places the jacket on her shoulders again, large hands clapping on the blade until he gently turns her around, careful to ensure her safety in this room.

“I know.” Her sad angel whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, remember that comments and kudos make me happy.
> 
> The Devil painting Rey saw as a kid: [ The Rider-Waite Tarot Card (The Devil)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Devil_\(Tarot_card\))
> 
> Although this chapter didn’t have a super heavy hand like the last chapter did, I urge you to consider donating or educating yourself with the links below. 
> 
> [UN](https://www.un.org/en/events/endviolenceday/)  
>    
>  [Break The Cycle](https://www.breakthecycle.org/blog/it%E2%80%99s-national-domestic-violence-awareness-month)  
>    
>  [National DV Hotline](https://www.thehotline.org/)  
>    
>  [Take A Stand](https://ncadv.org/take-action)  
>    
>  [SWOPUSA](https://swopusa.org/donate/)  
>    
>  [Black Sex Workers Collective](https://www.blacksexworkercollective.org/donate-1)  
>    
>  [SWCFund](https://www.gofundme.com/f/SWCFund)  
>    
>  [SWOP Behind Bars](https://www.swopbehindbars.org/donate/)  
>    
>  [RAINN (I've worked with them before!)](https://donate.rainn.org/donate)  
>    
>  [NSVRC](https://www.nsvrc.org/donate)  
> 


	4. bust down, petaliana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the _longest_ chapter I’ve ever written and I’m super happy about this, omfg. I can’t believe this chapter reached 13k without a second thought?? Holy fuck???
> 
> And I am still blown away by the amazing response this fic has gotten. I’m so surprised everytime my email pops up with another AO3 email that isn’t a fic update and I’m just omfg????? But seriously, thank you, thank you, thank you!! 
> 
> You know the drill; triggers are in the beginning! They are not in order of appearance; I apologize for that so **please** use your better judgement if you decide on reading this chapter or looking at the endnotes for the summary (I will start doing that whenever a chapter gets trigger heavy). 
> 
> **Triggers**  
>  Rape between employer and employee  
>  Forced orgasm  
>  Attempted rape  
>  Violence on a female  
>  Suicidal/death thoughts  
>  Talking about bodyweight  
>  Victim blaming/shaming  
>  Bullying  
>  Bullying on appearances  
>  Assumptions/accusations of the main character(s)  
>  Mention of urolagnia (sexual excitement from the sight or thought of urine)  
>  Incident of past mugging  
>  Gun mentions/actions  
>  Child abuse  
>  Religion mentions  
>  Fight between the main character and side characters  
>  Body injury  
> 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** As stated before, I do not know exactly what a stripper does other than perform her awesome moves on the pole/stage. Most of my interpretations for this chapter started with what I’ve seen in movies and roleplay porn (research, sue me). However, I did my research online and TikTok (thank you stripper side of TikTok!) and found awesome resources that I’ll link below. Most of it is about their work life and how to write a strip dance, so I do hope I was able to give it justice somehow in this chapter, which brings me to disclaimer #2. 
> 
> **Disclaimer #2:** Even before all of the research I’ve done, I was well aware of exotic dancers being highly educated and getting into the business for different reasons. This is obviously the exact opposite of Rey in this story, and I am aware it leans into the stereotypical side (before anyone decides to comment). Please remember there are reasons for this and I have been going with my gut the entire time for this story. So bear with me until we can get into that point and I promise it will all make sense! 
> 
> Super big shout-out to my bby, [Hooda ❤️❤️](https://twitter.com/HoodaWrites) for beta’ing this chapter and helping me with insults because I suck at them! 
> 
> Now, just so we’re clear, I know nothing of the streets of New York. I barely know the streets in my city, let alone another state. So I tried to understand why quick Google searches and I hope I got it right so please, any New Yorkers reading this, don’t come for me and don't have the information to heart if I’m wrong. I’M SORRY AND I’M TRYING, THANKS. 
> 
> Although this story has been dealing with bible imagery and symbols, I have never read the bible. Most of my knowledge about the Garden of Eden story and other mentions is from my limited knowledge of church camp from over a decade ago and my brief research sprints. So I base most things on my interpretation and reactions from other people I know. Maybe one day I’ll actually read it.

Puffs of grey smoke clouds the way — it swirls and mingles with the icy wind, blowing the contracting wheeze before being replaced by an exhale of her breath. It starts all over again; bone-chilling oxygen entering her lungs, warmed by dropping body temperature and disposed to fall in line with the freezing New York winter. The starless night sky greets Rey with a nippy shoulder as she rounds the corner. Dim street lighting vaguely guides her home, flickering with buzzing moth-like sounds from a broken wire or busted bulb. 

  


Arms constrict around her chest to keep the flaps of her borrowed raven jacket from welcoming a frigid breeze. The thin layer of her clothing underneath provides no warmth, and she strains to keep some level of heat in her body; the bottom hem slaps her mid-thigh over the slim, barely-there leggings. Her fingers flip the structured collar, grasping the base to create a make-shift scarf; thumb and forefingers gripping the soft material of this custom oversized jacket that shouldn’t belong to her but does. Teeth clatter to fight the frosty gusts of wind, but to no prevail, small manifestations litter the surface of her skin with every step she takes.

  


Rey is unaware of her location; green and white street signs supply no information since black graffiti and colorful stickers decorated the hard metal. She sighs, pausing in her stance to take one careful look around the empty neighborhood. 

  


The homes were dark. Not even a simple night light to shoo away a child’s nightmares cracked through the mismatching curtains. Their gardens had withered with the seasonal changes, the clumps of brown, red, and orange leaf clumps flying free to crumble and kiss the concrete dirt. Stems of weeds and dandelions grow through the splits of the sidewalk, swaying with the wind to dance their petals away and join their older, matured siblings of the tree leaves; casting a wish to the sky.

  


New York has changed within the last month, as it did every year towards the end of September, and the Halloween thrills spooked all those who celebrated the Devil’s night as Ms. Jade put it. Among the skeletons and pumpkins, people draped their fancy winter coats to march on the pavement and post about their upcoming fun in the city, or a vacation count to some exotic island Rey has never heard about. Times Square lit up with the holiday fashion collections; men in leather jackets from Coach, women smiling with Dior, and children running against a white background with a Gucci print on their long sleeves. 

  


Holiday music blast from the shops. The never-ending renditions of Mariah Carey’s Christmas album could be heard over the sales being announced by the poor seasonal worker to remind everyone who walked nearby that it’s never too early to shop for that special someone or family members, to stuff the underbellies of trees with overtopping presents and create a larger materialistic world.

  


While large corporations see an increase in revenue for material possessions, the Empire’s client list grew with the half-hum sorrows of lonely men. Seasonal depression is what they suffer from; blaming their sunken woos on the stock market troubles, an unrealized drug addiction, or their closeted wife who slept with the children’s nanny. They each sat in a zigzag line on crimson velvet sofas and sported dirty bejeweled Santa hats from the 90s, ready with their slacks at the ankles, and cock half-erected; waiting for a warm cunt to house it for the holidays.

  


But that’s the extent Mary Bells has explained.

  


A burst of freezing wind glides on her rosy cheeks, a soft howling echoes in the chamber of her ears while Rey ushers her heavy feet to move forward, dragging the sidewalk contents along with her. She ignores the pinching in her feet and the fatigue that blurs her mind, forcing her lids to stop drooping with exhaustion and colored with dark circles underneath. Her muscles burn with every step, crying for a moment of rest, but she pushes on and rounds another corner, lost in the junction of who knows where and where is home.

  


Rey just wants to be in bed, comforted by the heat radiator that breaks every six days and raises her bill by an extra sixty dollars. It was worth it, though, to feel something while she slept.

  


Tucking her chin into the limited warmth, she deeply inhales the pomegranate cologne that perpetuates her black jacket. It’s hard to confirm, but Rey believes the too-tall previous owner douses the material on the shoulders before making his way to the club; keeping it hooked on one finger over his shoulder while he waits by his regular seat, careful not to let the scent waft onto himself or another person.

  


He’s done that with all the other raven-styled jackets too — gifting Rey a new tailored cover each night she has worked for the last month, willing to drop another fasten briefcase with rubber bands tied with fat stacks of hundreds at Snoke’s request to cover her fees; ready and prepared with his driver waiting outside with a secured drop-off code. He oozes the plethora of wealth that no other man in the joint has. Not even Snoke’s greedy attitude could rival the limitless hoards of cash that he will drop without batting an eyelash out of place — only for her, just for Rey.

  


When it comes to Benjamin Solo,  _ Kylo Ren  _ to others, she has concluded that he is rather an odd man — polite and well-mannered, but there’s a danger that lurks in his hues. It waits to be provoked and rain terror on those who defy him. 

  


The thought has exhilarated her before.

  


His large stature gives him the advantage of having an unwelcoming presence, a dark aura exuding from his fancy clothes and soft pale skin. It’s accompanied by a frowning smolder that would make even the marbled structures of Greek Gods tremble in fear, though she finds his pout adorable. 

  


But it's astounding to watch this large man, capable of creating unspeakable destruction with the snap of his fingers, crumble into a kind and patient person when she nears. Even in the deep pits of this living Hell known as the Empire, Ben is soft-spoken and has shown her compassion more than once. 

  


Rey couldn’t fathom  _ why  _ this gentleman has taken an abstruse liking towards her. She wasn’t anything special; a malnourished nobody with no formal education completed backing her and no genuine prospects in this life.

  


She’s bound to die sooner rather than later.

  


The other dancers have voiced that they would service his broad form on any day, claiming to handle someone of his physique better than she could, which was true in her mind. Although, gorging their eyes out of their sockets with a thin needle seemed like an appealing idea to have; horrid by the imagery of their hands rubbing on his body. It was tempting, but it never manifested. 

  


In a manner of speaking, that is.

  


_ Tonight, the dressing room chatter continued when Aqua Dove came in, tits out, and pebbled from the cold air. Her French manicured nails gripped a worn, sleek black bag. Along the opened edge, crimped dollar bills are highlighted from the room's low lighting. Her pair of colored ombre-teal hue platforms scraped sand-toned dashes on the flax mahogany floor, adding to the questionable stains that wouldn’t come out with a good scrubbing from the Mr. Clean magic eraser. _

  


_ “Petals, get your ass out there,” the redhead bluntly called out, not looking around to find the youngest of dancers. Aqua stomped down on her seat, pulling the cash to start her count, and laid them out on the vanity by value. “Your brooding hulk mountain is there, sulking in a corner like fucking always.” _

  


_ Her chest tightened at the description. She pictured Ben vividly sitting on the furthest sofa, nuzzled by dark shadows, nursing a crystal glass of expensive whiskey in his large hands while he waited for her to perform, jaw clenched and glance somewhere else. Her heartbeat played a game of hopscotch, recalling the way his amber-honey eyes would always follow her, even in the sanctuary of a private room, and how they scorched her soul. _

  


_ Rey stopped running her thumb over the lepidolite stone stitched into the black handkerchief, skin pressed to the woven black rose embossed as a ‘P’. She tapped the gem a total of six times, bringing his name to the forefront of her mind as if trying to summon him out of thin air and entertaining shadows. She saw his eyes mostly and blames them for her ill-mattered thoughts that have plagued her nightly — ancient and all-knowing, with secrets tucked tightly behind his pink-tinted pillowy lips. There was a yearning behind them, for something, or someone, that Rey couldn’t get a grip around.  _

  


_ For the last month, she had tried to return the designed material to its rightful owner, but Ben wouldn’t have it. Night after night, they played the same merry-go-round of who was the true owner of the elegantly crafted cloth. It’s special to him, she’s seen it in the way Ben eyed the shimmering flowers, but he refused to take it back, despite her best efforts. _

  


_ Truthfully, she has grown rather attached to the material and often pretends her name isn’t Rey but something more worthwhile of having  _ —  _ Penelope, Poppy, and Penny were all beautiful names. She’s even entertained the idea of being called Persephone, for her silent love of flora, but it was a  _ silly  _ thought.  _

  


_ “Aqua, surely your standards couldn’t have dropped so low,” J’Adore snickered, pushing the thin wand of ink back into the designer brand mascara bottle in her hands. “Him? A hunk? I’ve seen monkey-shit more appealing than that overbearing brute. For someone who is so damn tall, he hunches a lot. Gives off total creepy Igor vibes, don’t you think?” _

  


_ Petals peered out from her hiding spot when some of the girls laughed. She clutched the handkerchief close to her chest, keeping her gaze on the ground before she tucked the cloth inside of her grimy duffle bag, riddled with insect-eaten holes. _

  


_ “I wonder what type of blackmail our little Petals has over the large-nose freak,” Sugar Lips sneered, folding some of her extra bills into the pockets of her bra. “Her pussy can’t be that tight, or so appealing, after being fucked by Snoke and his men. Remember how she just laid there and took it? Practically begging for it after wearing Honey’s outfit, if you asked me.” _

  


_ “While we’re on that subject, Cardi did say to let him swipe his nose like a credit card, even though his nose is so crooked and big; bats could hide under it!” Aqua rebutted with a wink, clipping a shack of hundreds in a corner. “At least his nose serves one  _ good _ purpose, but the rest of him? I’d cry myself to sleep if I had to see his face every night, or rather get on my knees.” _

  


_ Another wave of laughter echoed in the dressing room and Petals ignored them, having one last look in the mirror to check her make-up. She did a few quick alterations, adding powder on her nose, and painted her lips in a tinted cherry lip gloss to shine under the neon spotlights. She glanced at her chest, hues tracing the faded outline of Kylo Ren’s signature. It printed on her skin earlier when she laid face down on Snoke’s desk and her tears wet the paperwork, bringing the name close to her heart.  _

  


_ Although, she wished that it said Benjamin Solo. _

  


_ “What a sore beauty our Petals has become.” J’Adore grabbed her hairbrush, carefully undoing the knots from her earlier performance before tossing a perfect curl behind her shoulder. “Having to deal with the ugliness of one man day in and day out — I don’t just mean Snoke, of course.” _

  


_ “I suppose the money is well worth it.” Sugar Lips peaked up, sipping her nightly cocktail, and smacked her lips together to taste the gin. “His looks are just as repulsive as his attitude.” _

  


_ A bile taste formed on the roof of her mouth as they carried on with their insults, J’Adore being their general for this grotesque adventure on an innocent man. J’Adore conveys an aura of nasty purpose that Rey has never found enjoyable. She detains vulgar words on her shoulder like a hitman held his gun, locked and trigger-happy. Her words had spit slander on Petals as a school bully would in a playground before kicking down a sandcastle. The teachers were ignorant of the banter, but Rey has learned to let them be happy at the expense of her misery. But to say such cruel and horrible things about Ben, when they don’t even know him?  _

  


_ “Could he be any more depressing with his always black outfits? And what’s the deal with him giving Petals a jacket to wear every night? Tits out is club policy, little bud! Can’t always have your sugar daddy bailing you out, especially when there’s about to be a hit on you soon.” _

  


_ Ben, who has become the only person to show her any spec of genuine kindness and asked for nothing in return.  _

  


_ “His side job must be working for a rodeo with his clown feet. Give him a red nose and call him Chuckles the Clown!”  _

  


_ Ben, who drops more money on her well-being in this hell pit in a week than she has seen in a lifetime.  _

  


_ “Petals pushed his hair back the other night and Mary Bells saw his ears. They’re fucking massive! Like, as big as a satellite dish or a fucking UFO massive. That’s not normal! Was he taken as a baby and experimented on during his childhood? All probed until they made the ugliness of his face permanent? It could explain all the money he has to spend on someone like Petals, probably sued them or something. What a waste.” _

  


_ Ben, who has never touched her in the foul way that Snoke, or his men, or the clients of Empire, have. _

  


_ “He’s paying so much money for Petals while we work like dogs, and for what? There’s nothing special about her. Doesn’t mean I want to please the big, ugly idiot, but, god, there  _ must  _ be something wrong with him. Or her. Shit, do you think he has a tiny dick? Like so tiny it feels like nothing?” _

  


_ Ben, who is patient and keeps conversation light between them so their words won’t feel forceful, although they never have. _

  


_ “Small cock or not, he probably fucks her dry. Maybe fucks her ass dry too. Oh my gosh, what if he’s into urolagnia?!” _

  


_ Ben, who urges her to sleep even when the DJ pounds the same playlist night after night. _

  


_ “You know those perverts who come in specifically for a weird fetish? Like Diamond Star serving that white, fat, bald dude with the hairless Asian fetish or Daisy Jones with that one chick who loves a Russian accent? That idiot must be into something inhuman and scrapes the bottom of the pit for someone like Petals.” _

  


_ Ben, who has a meal hot and ready for her and snacks to give willingly.  _

  


_ “What a total loser! Showing up every night and paying for the same woman, for the same  _ used  _ woman. How fucking gross is that?” _

  


_ Ben, who hands her a new jacket every night, so she doesn’t get cold after collecting her earnings. _

  


_ “I got it! What if his fetish is used girls? Like, he doesn’t care about the sloppy seconds rule and goes digging for that extra something in her pussy left behind Snoke.” _

  


_ Ben, who has offered time and time again to take her away and live somewhere safe, far away from Snoke’s eyes whenever she pleases. A fact she always refuses simply because it was too  _ good  _ to be true. _

  


_ An overflowing sizzle of wrath takes shelter in the crevices of her chest, boiling her blood in a shade of vexation and rage. She stood from her seat abruptly and ignored the surprised stares from the other girls, forcing her feet to take heavy steps out the door, but J’Adore spoke up once more, which caused her to snap. _

  


_ “Holy shit, you really think he  _ likes  _ sloppy seconds? God, ugh, how gross! Do you think the only reason he pays so much is just to eat out whatever is left in Petal’s pussy at the end of the night like he’s secretly gay, but not totally out, so he takes what’s there? What a sick fuck! That’s it, he’s a total sicko in my book. Just send one of Snoke’s dogs to finish the job and clean the world of him, good fucking riddance.” _

  


_ When those words spelled from J’Adore’s lips, Petals made an immediate turnaround. Her nostrils flared, fingers gripping into tight fists and whitened her knuckles. Her painted skin flushed to the tone of poppy flowers, glowing brighter with anger, and hunger grew in her stomach for revenge.  _

  


_ J’Adore continued to laugh when she came up behind her, blissfully unaware until Petals grabbed her brown curls with a tight grasp and tugged her off the velvet seat. Landing on the floor, she yelped and prompted her hands to reach over and stop her attacker, but Petal twisted her face and brought her face down onto the vanity; it smeared her once-perfect canvas of cosmetics in cigarette ashes. The sudden shock made her make-up products ruffle to the ground in a jumbled mess.  _

  


_ Her teeth were bare as she kept going, repeatedly smashing the woman’s face as her blood strained the dark-tinted wood. Dollar bills and rolled bottles of designer labels ran through the crimson pool that accumulated near the table legs. She let go after her screams of agony became annoying, watching as J’Adore crawled away to safety in quick haste, spitting droplets of blood and snippets of her pearly white teeth coming out in chipped pieces. _

  


_ “You crazy bitch!” Sugar Lips shouted. “You’ll fucking pay for that!” _

  


_ Petal narrowed her eyes over her shoulder, looking at the woman who stood from her seat. Sugars’ words were flat, not blaring any truth to match her body language; hands trembling and pupils blown wide in absolute fear. Rey grinned to see this, feeling the rush of power that bolted through her bones. She felt clear for the first time in her life; filled with purpose and blank of doubts.  _

  


_ Everything in her mind had gone mute after that; senses dulled and vision sharp. Rey lunged forward, balled fist raised and hitting Sugar Lips square in the face. The cracking sound of her nose echoed in their room, joining the screams of the other women who jumped from their chairs and huddled away to the wall.  _

  


_ Sugar Lips fell and Petals stepped forward in her pink platform heels, yanking the other woman by the hair and gave her another punch on her broken nose. Snot and tears mingled with the bold lines of scarlet and purple bruising under her eyes. Sugar reacted instantly, turning to escape this assault, but Petals was too strong, using a sudden strength she didn’t have before. _

  


_ “If you ever say anything about Kylo Ren ever again, I will personally see to your bloody demise,” Petals sneered, stroking a gentle fingertip along the edge of Sugars’ jawline. She chuckled darkly. “They won’t even be able to identify you.”  _

  


_ Her hand released the cowering woman, straightening up to watch as she rushed to join the others in the corner. _

  


_ Both J’Adore and Sugar Lips held their noses, trying to keep the bleeding to a minimum, but it overflowed; paths of ruby dropping in shining teardrops, mimicking an over-watered flower pot on a hot summer day. _

  


_ Turning to the nearest mirror, Petals fluffed her wig with a victory smile. She grabbed a towel from the closest seat and cleaned any bit of blood off her body, keeping the small dots on her shoes as a reminder. The white cotton fell to the floor once she was satisfied, sucking up the luke of drying scarlet. _

  


_ Petals twirled without another word given between them. However, she heard Lucy Kitty mumbled, a barely audible sentence that poured under the A$AP Ferg song playing. _

  


_ “Was it just me… Or were her eyes glowing gold…?” _

  


Still, despite the defensive maneuver earlier, it’d be easier for Ben to rid himself of her and enjoy his paid time with a woman who has a fuller body and more experience in this underground world of sex. The thought makes her want to vomit, strangle the imaginary female with strawberry blonde hair, honey skin that bears no scars, and a button nose free of pesky freckles. It’s the exact opposite of Rey, everything that he deserves in a night of pleasure rounds that colors his surface in crimson; something that has made her blush too often. 

  


Unlike Rey, the hay-colored female of her imagination wasn’t shackled on a short golden leash that's gripped by shriveled hands. No, this girl is free of this man’s claws — not giving Ben the inclination to go toe-to-toe with Snoke on several occasions, combating with witty remarks of things she didn’t understand and comments coded in politeness; struggling smiles and transactions completed, pursuing another night of privacy away from the bitter old man.

  


Ben fumes after such meetings, keeping a protective palm on the small of her back that rushes the incoming winter chills out of her bones. The stares of dancers and employees alike send knives to her covered body, courtesy of yet another jacket trimmed with a purple thread and cuffed with amethyst gems. They flash glances of murder for the girl who made their week’s salary in a single hour, but quickly scurry off when Ben turns his head, his fingers tightening on the material as he leads them away. She stays close to the large man, migrating to the furnace of his chest as they walk to their given room, and listens to the rhythmic beat of his heart that subconsciously syncs to her own.

  


Regardless of Petal’s sudden cash cow status, Snoke no longer appreciates the barrels of money Ben hands over each night. He’s crude, stiffing an upper lip when Ben drops another load of cash to extend his time with her; suppressing six months without fault and plans to pay for another year if she’s willing. It’s not uncommon for their clients to make requests for more time with their favorite girls, but none of those dancers had ever been Snoke’s  _ personal  _ toy. 

  


By club policy, Snoke had to follow his demands and fake a grin to accept the transactions; keeping the sums of money to himself as a method for punishing her. 

  


But behind the courtesy, Rey could see the truth with every acceptance. The old man plots. She’s seen his viper cut stare before and it’s no different from the narrow glance he gives Ben now; scheming and alternating to fit his needs until he finds a moment to strike with poisonous teeth and whisper hushed commands to his armed dogs. 

  


Snoke waits patiently, sniffing for any information on the lone man who has laid claim to her time. 

  


_ The brass metallic of his belt buckle clanked against the oak desk with each quicken thrust. It created rough, even lines with jaded splinters to impale her skin tomorrow, where he will force her on the ground and pry her mouth wide open for his semi-hard cock. _

  


_ For tonight, the first night in a month, Snoke wanted  _ his  _ Petals faced down — cheek against the black and white paperwork riddled with Kylo Ren’s signature in elegant cursive attached to large payment sums that will never belong to her. _

  


_ To Snoke, this is the ultimate fuck you; sending the middle finger to her secret angel while he drove his small penis against her walls. All during Kylo’s paid time.  _

  


_ Ben couldn’t always protect her like he wanted to. Bless him for trying, but it wasn’t possible. _

  


_ Her glossy hues of brimming tears observed the blurry accumulation of dust bunnies under his sofa; many large and small tangled with strings of red, yellow, and the occasional glistening rhinestone. She saw the shadow outline of her missing pair of underwear and a dirty bra, making a mental note to grab them on her way out. _

  


_ The dry slapping of skin blended with the haggard grunts coming from his throat. His dirty fingernails dug into the globes of her ass while her hip bones bruised against the thumber. It all lumbers into the squeaking tilt of the ceiling fan she considered a friend. It muted the shadow on the furniture, spinning in slow turns, and smelt of burnt electrical wiring.  _

  


_ The ventilator sounds gave her a slight comfort, reminiscent of her nightly daydreams where the ebony fields lingered with poppy flowers in glowing crimson. She imagined someone wearing lilac robes with twine with dark string, an arm curled around her shoulders, whispering  _ my  _ rose petal love in a voice so deep and so gentle that she knew it belonged to one certain man in her living life. _

  


_ She created half-moon crescents on the base of her palm when he climaxed, drawing thin lines of crimson to focus on instead of the building pressure that wilted. Her lashes shined with droplet tears, but only one teardrop made its escape. It landed on the paper and turned the ink of Kylo’s name to a runny black.  _

  


_ Snoke panted in heavy puffs above her before pulling out. The sound of his old knees cracked and a tired groan caressed his lips when he sat on his worn chair, leaning back to savor in a sinful afterglow. _

  


_ The muted substance oozes out of her in slow traffic. He roped it on his skinny fingers, enamored by his display with a grin, and forced it back inside; showing her  _ who  _ she truly belonged to.  _

  


_ No amount of money could save her. _

  


_ Her forehead touched the aged wood. A string of vile words built upon her tongue. It would make Ms. Jade blushed before she struck her down with a slap, so Rey bit her bottom lip to avoid displeasing him and her former foster mother. _

  


_ It would be over soon enough. _

  


_ “You’ve gotten fat,” he supplied bitterly after an eternity. “All that food he demands from the kitchen or outdoor venues is absurd. You’re cut off — eat during your own free time, but not during my club hours. I don’t care what he says or the amount of money he puts in my face.” _

  


_ It’s the lie he told himself every night when they counted her earnings, separate from Kylo’s half of the night. She knew that Ben would undermine Snoke’s command again, having done it before, and fed her one square meal, two if it became the very early morning hours and the light traffic hours of the city started. He’ll argue that she needs to have fresh veggies and seasoned meats, growing guilty after seeing her pout, and handed her a chocolate bar after cleaning off the plate, belly full for the first time in the day.  _

  


_ The chocolate was always her favorite part. _

  


_ He was always prepared with extra snacks in a small bag each night, guessing her childhood favorites and adding a few healthy choices for her to take home. They have fought over it before, but she gives in to innocent amber-rimmed eyes. _

  


_ “Please, take it,” he pleaded with her after their time is done, rewarding her with a small smile when she grabs it with no complaints. “I don’t want you to go hungry.” Unknowing to him, the other dancers will steal it, but his boyish-grin is well worth it. _

  


_ The bony finger twisted, pulling Rey out of her memory, and pressed against the hidden spot that has made her tremble involuntarily before; a spongy texture that made her want to say another name, willing her to close her eyes and imagine powerful arms holding her instead. _

  


_ Bubbles of panic settled in the hollow emptiness of her chest. It accompanies Rey every day when she’s not with Ben, despite the few hours that they’re apart. They burst in fizz fits as his finger curled around, probing the area with rapid laziness. She closed her eyes to steady her breath, constraining to hold her silent tears before they damage the documents underneath.  _

  


_ It’s useless. The droplets had soaked Kylo’s signature until it became a smudged pattern, turning into a watery grey that seeps into the bottom layers.  _

  


_ When the tightness in her stomach snapped, her lips pressed firmly to avoid moving. Although her thighs quiver and there’s a broken moan vibrating in her throat, Rey knew he liked it when she’s motionless, submitting to his will because if she didn’t, the punishment would be much crueler and involve the guards outside.  _

  


_ Even if he didn’t harm a single hair on her head (not any more than he already has), his inhumanity would harm Ben and she didn’t want to think about the possibilities Snoke has cooked up. Rey knows that her angel could hold himself up against the scarred man, but it’s a risk she didn’t want to chance. _

  


_ So she waited. _

  


_ After he removed his finger, Snoke cleaned the milky liquid flowing on her thigh. He slapped her ass once, causing her to hiss when his imprint burned on bronze skin. It’s his signal for her to move and with a hard gulp, she stood; sheets of paper stuck to her sweat-covered chest, and before her, Snoke chuckled darkly.  _

  


_ Rey made quick work to remove them, piling it back on his desk and scurried off to collect her clothing. She kept her back turned to him, evading his vulture-blue eyes that follow her carefully now and before disappearing behind a closed door when Kylo’s protective hand covers the small of her back. _

  


_ His slimy glance never goes away, even in the small safety and comfort of her raggy home. Snoke was still there, taking what he wanted. _

  


_ His elbows found a place on the desk, resting on a leather mat that sunk with the weight. Fingers coiled together to hold his chin, the index of both hands pressed against his thin, chapped lips; lost in thought.  _

  


_ “Who is he,” Snoke inquired when she’s done wiping the dried fluid off her body.  _

  


_ Petals readjusted her pink wig on the broken reflection by his closed door, tucking her chestnut locks back into the cap. It split her face in two, coloring one side in dark shadows and another glowing in soft lighting. However, it brought attention to the patchy name inked on her chest, taken from the paperwork without her realizing it. Carefully, she hid it with the strap of her bra and strands of neon hair; preferring to think she belonged to another instead of the old man who had a tight hold on her soul. _

  


_ “I don’t know,” she responds flatly, keeping her features impassive in the broken mirror. _

  


_ “Petals,” he intoned dangerously. “Who is  _ he _.” _

  


_ “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.” _

  


_ “He is a child playing with a mask in affairs that do not concern his input. So, I will ask you again.” Snoke stood from his seat, sending it to hit the empty decorative bookshelf that houses a few knickknacks taken from former clients before they met their demise. Threatening footsteps speed up and his tall, slender form hovered over her, unwelcoming and possessive in the way all power-hungry men are. His wrinkled cock hit her hip, marking her skin and clothing in its post intercourse shine. Snoke grabbed her chin and forced her to glance up at his mutilated face. Despite wearing her heels, the height difference is massive between them and he made her stand on tip-toes, having to hold his forearms for support. “He’s hiding something and I intend on finding out. So tell me, Petals, who the fuck is Kylo Ren.” _

  


_ “I don’t know,” Rey lied through her teeth, hissing when his nails sunk into her cheeks. “I only know him as Kylo Ren, I don’t know what else you want,” she said in a small tone, keeping her gaze on Snoke’s beady eyes, but he lets her go and brings a hard slap across her skin, sending her to the floor. _

  


_ “You stupid brat!” He brought another hand down, coloring her other cheek in red.  _

  


_ “I know nothing!” Rey shouted, tears in the corner of her eyes because of the pain, but she kept Ben’s true identity locked in the dark corners of her mind. He asked her to keep this timid of information between them, willing to pay her for silence, but even if Ben didn’t ask, she would have kept it as her own little secret.  _

  


_ Slitting his eyes, Snoke watched her with careful intent before tucking himself back into his slacks, ignorant of her disgust, and returned to his chair. With a flick of his wrist, he dismissed Petals without another word and kept a nasty snarl on his lips, nostrils flaring in distrust and rage. She rushed out, throwing the door open, and ran past his guards who kept a close eye on her behind their scarlet masks.  _

  


_ Snoke barked and ordered them inside by the time she reached the dressing room, his voice dying over the blasting club music. _

  


A biting chill enters through the small holes in her leggings and shoes, creating a surge of goosebumps to light up her skin. Her teeth clatter painfully and she clings onto the jacket on her shoulders, mumbling a small prayer to any God who could lead an ear and will take some pity on her for warmth.

  


It’s a useless attempt. The New York cold has never been forgiving, with record-breaking low temperatures and over snowed streets making the newsreel highlights. Over the years, she strived to take part in some form of prayer, still having Ms. Jade’s voice in her mind about saving her soul and entering the golden gates of Heaven, but nothing has grown fruitful from the experience. Rey has never gotten an answer from a merciful God or even a vindictive God.

  


There really was no such thing as a God or Gods.

  


They’re all dead.

  


Lifting her head out of the tiny ebony cocoon, Rey squints at the nearest street sign under blotchy yellow lighting.  _ Ralph Avenue and 78th Street,  _ the white lettering traced in orange-filled sharpie and vertical blue stripes. She groans loudly, scaring the alley cat from its hiding spot, and throws her head up to see the starless sky in frustration. At this rate, it would take another two hours before she reaches her apartment building; children running off to catch their school bus and parents fighting in languages she didn’t understand with the overbearing car horns of already frustrated New Yorkers. The entire city would be awake by then, hustling to get their venti blonde roast cups from the closest Starbucks and buzzing the streets with life to start the day when she’s trying to end it. 

  


By now, Rey would be home; the muck of the Empire scrubbed off her body with lukewarm water, snuggled up in her extra-padded sleeping bag on top of her thin, old mattress with the crappy heater at full blast. Her eyes would stare up at the mold-covered ceiling filled with spots of green and questionable navy before falling asleep. 

  


For an hour, maybe two, she’d lay somewhere in the vast darkness with the noises of her neighbor's arguments vibrating against the thin paper walls before fully slipping into a world of dreams. Nightmares of shadow monsters with white, glowing silhouettes chase her around an ivory temple made of marble with sharp claws hovering over. Their thunderous strikes of cynical laughter would cause a cold sweat on her skin as voices call her something other than Rey, taking joy in her fear while someone tries to reach out and help. She’d wake up around lunchtime, sleep shirt drenched in perspiration and heart-rate picking up over the police sirens going off outside. 

  


However, her predictable routine has gone out the window when the stupid bus broke down some forty blocks behind; leaving all patrons out of a ride without two dollars to their name and the lack of refund. The subway runs on a 24-hour service, making it the most convenient of transportation, but since someone mugged her last year, held at gunpoint and only five dollars in her pockets, Rey avoids it like she used to steer clear of Ms. Jade’s bitter apple pies. 

  


_ Ms. Jade rarely lets the children go off on their own. They lived a strict life of going to school and church, with morning and afternoon prayers to sing for God. Ms. Jade said it was to save their souls from the wicked sins of humanity, so they sang in monotone hums. On the rare occasion that she does allow them an afternoon free of those responsibilities, Rey dragged Mitaka to the small library just north of the high school where the homeless tried to pester them for loose change.  _

  


_ He could have easily said no to the little girl and dumped her with Cara and Beru, who would spend their time window shopping at the nearest boutiques and play a game of five-finger discount. Mitaka could have hung out with his friends instead of being hauled by Rey to the gardening section of the battered library and demanded he read the books she pulled out.  _

  


_ At the age of three, she only understood a few words on the pages. Rey needed Mitaka to read the bigger words and explain what they meant before moving on to the next paragraph. The librarians told them to keep their voices low and to pick up their mess, especially after pouring countless books in their limited free time.  _

  


_ However, Rey was a greedy child who asked the closest person she has to a family for assistance. _

  


_ He always seemed bored, fat cheek pressed against his knuckles while lecturing her on the right fertilizing process of tulips or the different tools used in ancient Greece. Mitaka still did it anyway, often looking over her shoulder after an hour, and a quiver of fear shook his shoulders. He’d be more alert after that, sitting up straight with white fingertips gripping the book, with the information flowing out of him more willingly.  _

  


_ Rey found it strange, turning around to see if it happened to be Ms. Jade who found them reading something other than the bible. There was nothing but shadows behind her, casting angles of darkness from the falling sun.  _

  


_ There have been, occasionally, dark contours in different shapes that weren’t near the windows. Still, Rey only cared about what Mitaka had to say, so she thought nothing of it.  _

  


_ “The serpent tempted both Adam and Eve to eat the forbidden fruit. They defied God’s command,” Ms. Jade said while she turned the oven temperature low to complete the pie’s bake. She lined the ingredients up in a straight line on the counter, allowing Ms. Jade to move down and work without making a gigantic mess of flour. Mitaka was cleaning up the small bits of the counter that got dirty, his face bored.  _

  


_ “God banished He, the serpent, before and therefore He searched for a method of revenge.” She placed the leftover apples on a plate, leaving them while she turned to clean up. _

  


_ Ms. Jade spent weeks searching for someone who could remove the rotting tree from their backyard, calling it a waste of space and useless. Rey didn’t want to see go, however, knowing that there must be some way to heal it.  _

  


_ On their last venture into the library, Mitaka read every single book on apple trees that little Rey could find until she knew and understood every method of care there was. She experimented with different soils and feeding seeds along with watering measurements until it bloomed overnight, apples ready for picking.  _

  


_ Rey was excited! She did that all with her own tiny hands, playing with the dirt until the decaying vines were removed and replaced with healthy ones. She overflowed the woven basket from their kitchen with the crimson balls, hauling it inside, and rushed to show Mitaka and Ms. Jade.  _

  


_ Although she wasn’t ecstatic as Rey was, Ms. Jade pressed a thin smile and promised the little girl she'd make an apple pie for dessert, after braiding her hair into another tightly, inelegant display. Her lips pursed when she looked over the apples, finding a bruised pair, and tossed them before Rey could protest.  _

  


_ Mitaka and Rey were the only two children in the kitchen listening to their foster mother’s words. She sent Cara to the punishment closet with no dinner or breakfast, and Beru ran away the night before, leaving no note and no personal possessions behind.  _

  


_ “Thus, God banished Adam and Eve from the garden as punishment and placed angels with flaming swords at Eden’s gates to ensure neither man nor woman could ever return.” _

  


_ Rey sat on the high chair, munching on the leftover slices of the bright red apples picked from their orchard tree. They were sweet and blended with the perfect balance of love and health that made her say yum repeatedly. Mitaka kept putting more on her tray, removing the outer skin that she didn’t like so much. _

  


_ “But the apple was only a metaphor for sex and the serpent was Lucifer,” he continued. The knife carefully skimmed over the apple’s skin and he ignored the sudden blush that colored Ms. Jade’s cheeks. “God made Eve in the image of Lilith, who was Lucifer's lover and some researchers have said she was his wife.”  _

  


_ “Is Lucifer the pretty angel with gold eyes?” she questioned sincerely, whimpering when Ms. Jade turned her head sharply and slapped her face; skin buzzing with heat. _

  


_ Ms. Jade grabbed the dough covered wooden spoon and smacked Mitaka’s head with it. “Do not bring the Devil’s name to my home!” she shouted, making little Rey jump in her seat and the last bits of slices falling to the floor. “I don’t care what that hillbilly school of yours teaches you, the word of God should not be in vain or questioned in this house!” She brought the spoon down and imprinted severed splinters on his hand, a red oval shining on his pale skin. “How dare you say such ridiculous things in front of Rey!”  _

  


_ After that, Ms. Jade threw them both into the punishment closet for two days. They were squeezed together with Cara, making it uncomfortable to nap. Their foster mother stood by the door, reading and rereading the Garden of Eden story until she drilled it into their head. On Sunday, she released them because God showed her a vision in her sleep to show them mercy. They  _ were _ only children, after all.  _

  


_ In the kitchen, there was a freshly baked apple pie with lines of steam penetrating the air. It smelled sweet, ready to be devoured by hungry children. _

  


_ However, when the first taste landed on her taste bud, it was sour and bitter.  _

  


Kicking a tiny fragmented piece of concrete, Rey watches as it slides along the paved sidewalk until it collides with a brick wall, staring before reluctantly starting her walk home again. 

  


The streetlights were turned off from their timed sensor. The hues of dust still claim territory over the sky since the sun hasn’t risen just yet. No dots of glittering white to sparkle her way home. It’s the twilight hours between morning and night, an odd time Rey has found comforting and pleasant. 

  


The interior pocket of her jacket hums. She tries to ignore it, but it vibrates in a continuous string of messages coming from the only person in the city who would text her at this late hour. He shouldn’t have her number, but he does. Because that’s just the way Ben Solo works, taking what he wants and when he wants. At least he has the decency to ask, pledging with his wide amber eyes until she reluctantly hands it over.

  


_ “I only want to make sure you’re safe,” Ben said the night he asked, handing her the sleek, black phone with a sincere glance of caution. She stared at it, eyeing the device before looking back at him. Dancers aren’t allowed to give their private numbers to clients, no matter how much they will pay. Snoke had forbidden the practice after the incident with Melody. Before she could second guess the choice, Rey typed in the ten-digit number. _

  


This is about the time he’d text her - when her head hits the lumpy pillow and the sun clears its rays through her thin-lilac, moth-eaten curtains. The messages always had the same tone of worry, wondering if she had gotten home already, asking her to have a snack before falling asleep, and urging her to call if she needed anything. Rey has never answered back, letting their conversations remain one-sided until they saw each at the club later that night.

  


Her fingers have typed text messages before, pressing into the illegible letters until it formed a cohesion sentence. It happened on the nights she no longer wanted to live, when the strain of hunger, frost, and danger had worn her down and she felt like running to the finish line, joining the lost souls of the afterlife to wonder in some dark glimpse of reality. Rey always deleted the words, tucking those thoughts away because she doesn’t want to seem ungrateful for his help or appear needy. 

  


By instinct, her fingers grip the flip phone and hold it in her palm. The tiny cracked screen lit up with his name in bold black letters, all capitalized and daunting with significance. 

  


Rey hates to admit it, but she wonders what he was doing up this early. She’s thought about it before when her neighbors are throwing pans and pots against the unkempt walls and she’s trying to find sleep. She likes to believe that Ben was probably standing in a high rise penthouse overlooking the city skyline as the hues of dark change to clouds of grey, orange, and yellow before the famous blue comes. He’d be wearing casual attire, most likely getting ready for a quick run before starting his business day, even though he got limited sleep the night before. His home, she’d imagine, decorated in furniture of black and dark gray, with hues of steels and dots of crimson to allow color inside. His walls would be bare of family images, opting to hang expensive artwork he’d pay top-dollar for during a private auction. Everything would be clean and minimalist except for his office — which would be covered in dual-iron filing bins of banking statements and company documents. There would be one wall of his personal items, such as vintage copies of well-known books from their first print or old maps rolled up and cataloged in a particular matter. His computer would ding with every new email before it’s sent straight to his phone, adding to the high count that’s already there.

  


He’d stand by the window, a cup of black coffee in one hand while the other fumbles to type in the largest iPhone out on the market. Although the Apple company has increased its size and dimension on its popular cell-phone, his phone still looked so tiny in his palm.

  


Then again, her hand looks small in his too.

  


_ Flexing her fingers in slow repeated motions, she counted to six before curling them back into her palm. Her nostrils flared when inhaling the stale scent of burnt cigarettes and bodily fluids. She does it over and over again with closed eyes to control the violet shakes her body produced. The adrenaline coursed through her veins, raging with the need to punch again, but she refrained from doing so.  _

  


_ It doesn’t take long to realize it’s from the result of punching Sugar Lips and J’Adore.  _

  


_ Rey had been pleased seeing them with fear in their eyes, worried that she’d come at them again with another brutal swing or something worse. It was the first time she’d ever done anything of that nature, often staying clear of bullies who picked fights for the fun of them during her school years. She didn’t realize that punching, not one, but two people within seconds would hurt her physically, but it did.  _

  


_ There’s an emotional side to it too. The guilt that settled in once the terrorizing rampage escaped from her veins and she could think again, be herself instead of the person she transformed to. They deserved it; she knew that. If it wasn’t her, then someone else was bound to give them a taste of their medicine, even if Petals was long gone from this Earth. But it didn’t help the overlapping guilty thoughts that ran through her mind. _

  


_ Still, she’d do it all over again if she could. _

  


_ She rotated her wrist forward and back a total of six times, trying to relieve the pain and prickly noise that jolted the area. One of the older stagehands cued her, giving the signal as the DJ played her new music set. _

  


_ Petals nodded and waited, allowing the hyped-sultry beats to penetrate the air. She didn’t pick the songs and didn’t particularly flavor the vulgar lyrics, but it wasn’t meant for her to enjoy or approve. It meant to create a mood, telling clients that  _ yes,  _ we have the best whores in the city and your money is well worth the investment in our girls. She didn’t need to hide behind the curtain to know these same men who paid top dollar to be here were already surrounding the stage with bills in hand and cocks pressed against their designer brand slacks or jeans. They each shared a single brain cell — the mindset of let’s see some tits and pay for coochie because we don’t know how to pick up a girl at a regular club! _

  


_ All men expect one. _

  


_ Petals held behind for a couple of more seconds before sticking her leg out seductively like they taught her to do. She gave it a little kick, and the velvet slapped her calves when she emerged from the shadows, receiving howls and cheers from desperate men. Her hips swayed to the words of Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion and her hands moved to follow, traveling up her body in the gentle matter that she liked. She made eye contact with a few men, business guys with a packed weekend of golfing and sugar babies to please, and sent them a wink. Petals hadn't done much, but the cash was already starting to fall; bills of dollars, fives, and a mix of hundreds were in the air. _

  


_ Different shades of neon lights coated her legs in vibrant colors as she stepped on to the stage covered in thick glass squares. On the ceilings above, the glow in the dark spotlights left her skin in darkness but brought out the highlighted fluorescent pink strands of her wig. The rhinestones of her rosy two-piece shined, glimmering in colors of the rainbow, and starred little dots on the floor.  _

  


_ The music reverberated on the platform, sending tidal waves of tremors up her shoes and manifested goosebumps on her skin. Petals kept her composure as she walked across the pathway, moving her hips seductively. However, it’s short-lived when her fingers gripped around the steel pole, spinning in a sensual teasing method and almost lazily. Her back pressed against the cold metal and the men groaned, knowing it's part of the show, and they still didn’t like that fact. She pretended to yawn, patting a free hand on to her lips, and they tried to entice her by sending more money into the air. She stood innocently with a tiny pout, although they couldn’t see her. _

  


_ Petals put distance between her and the pole, letting her viewers think she’ll do nothing as she batted her eyelashes. Her chest stuck out under the lights, calling attention to her small breasts in the glistening shades of a rainbow from her rhinestones. In truth, she was preparing for the first part of her set and surprised them with a kick when the chorus dropped. _

  


_ “From the top, make it drop! That’s some wet ass pussy!” _

  


_ The men quickly stood from their chairs, many of them clanking on to the ground. Although it was against club policy, they took out their phones and recorded after she dropped to her heels, hands holding like a statue before falling to her knees. The camera light was annoying under these conditions but she didn't falter, Petals went on with the memorized steps. It took her less than an hour to learn the dance, but Rey didn’t like the idea of twerking her ass as they did in the popular TikTok dance. Snoke wanted her to do it, not Lucy Kitty like it was decided among the dancers. Clients have commented about her supposedly peachy ass before, but Rey didn’t believe she had much to work with when compared to Honey Pie or the other dancers. _

  


_ Wiggly behind or not, they still paid and touched. _

  


_ Petals made a rapid jolt up, spreading her arms out to the side before falling back to the ground. Her leg angled up, and a fist formed beside her, knocking on the glass to move at the beat of the song. Her left arm tucked under and she rolled around quickly, kicking her legs out to the side so they have a momentary view of the studded rose on her underwear, a symbol of her name.  _

  


_ “Bring a bucket and a mop for this wet ass pussy!” Cardi sang from the speakers and Petals mouthed the words. She leaned forward to one certain gentleman who’s beyond intoxication, mouth open and eyes glassy. She blew him a kiss, and he reacted quickly, grabbing his fat stack of hundreds and tucked them into her string before letting the rest fall over. He gave her ass a slap as she kept crawling away with the beat of the song, laughing to himself, or his friends.  _

  


_ The words of disgust died on her tongue when she reached the pillar. Her body fell again to the covered floor with the quickening pace, performing the same back and hand rhythm on the opposite side. She kicked her legs again when her body rolled, tucking her knees in, and slowly straightened her back when Megan’s voice deepened, having the second to breathe before it sped up again.  _

  


_ Turning her head to look over her shoulder, Petals noticed how much larger the crowd grew and she gave them a wink. The WAP song started its measured remixed transition as she made easy work of undoing the designed Walmart bra. Petals was strategic about covering herself, not letting them see anything until it was time. The strings of gems fell on her freckled skin as she held the starred cups, rotating her shoulder blades, and hooked one strap on her finger. The material smacked her back, but she twirled it around before letting it drop to the floor.  _

  


_ “Bust it! Bust it! Bust down, petaliana!” The rapper sang, echoing repeatedly as she grabbed the pole and worked her way off the floor. Petals didn’t know how the DJ created that bit of personalization, knowing that none of the other dancers got that much work into their music set, but it got a huge response from the audience. Large mountains of cash fell all around, from her part of the stage to the DJ booth.  _

  


_ Petals held the pole with one hand, throwing her hair back to remove the pink strands in her way. She squatted slightly to stick out her ass, moving her hips to the beat of the tune before thrusting forward and back. Her left leg kicked to the side, giving a tiny walk around the pole, and her other hand came to hold the metal, spinning around to let her body come forward and display her chest. _

  


_ That’s when Petals found him. _

  


_ He’s impossible to miss — a tall figure sulking in a corner, sitting on his proclaimed velvet sofa with the shadows sheltering his body. Ben was wearing all black, gripping a rim of whiskey in his large hand as his amber eyes watched. He never sat close to the stage, but Petals could see every detail of him given their distance. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to have him close to watch and give a private show, personalized strictly for him without the border of a dollar bill or vulture stares hovering nearby. _

  


_ Knowing Ben, he would still refuse the gift. _

  


_ At their own accord, her hand reached up and twisted a finger to beacon him closer. It’s not part of her choreographed dance. She should have been bending forward and curving her chest leisurely further before wrapping her leg around the pillar, spinning around to perform the hands-free section. Instead, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, intensely focused on Ben.  _

  


_ Under the dimmed lighting, the contours of his Adam’s apple bobbed and his fingers gripped tightly around the crystallized glass. Ben was attracted to her, she’s not a fool to realize that. Petals didn’t need the other dancers to say it, or their cruel words.  _

  


_ Returning to her performance, Petals kept a watch on him as the other dancers flocked to him, hoping to have a slice of the money she made despite everything they said. They tried to distract him from her show; pawing his shoulders, playing with his collar, and whispered things in his ears. It made her blood boil and her hands curled into fists again, feeling the rage from earlier beginning to rise. It cooled away as Ben waved them off one by one. However, his eyes never left her, even when dismissing the dancers, even after Petals removed her underwear and finished the last few bits of her set.  _

  


_ He never took his eyes off her, not once. Rey doesn’t know why her heart fluttered when he smiled at her, raising his glass to her in solitude. _

  


_ After collecting her earnings and extra tips from guests, Rey made her way towards Ben. As she paced herself towards him, he stood with a slight nervous flinch; his hands shoved into his pockets and tongue licked the taste of liquor off his lips. It’s like her body and mind were a magnet to him, an enthralling connection pulling them together and begging to be close even when she’s mere inches away.  _

  


_ She has tunnel vision for him and him alone. Nothing else around them mattered, nor could she find the time to truly care. Rey just wanted to be close to him. _

  


_ His ancient eyes scorched her, focusing on the deep spheres and thin curves of her features rather than letting them linger downward like other men; the temptation of the flesh and sinful thoughts. With a small cough, Ben gently placed another tailored jacket on her shoulders and fastened the buttons on the front. He was always careful not to touch her skin, respecting the border even if the lack of it is required for her employment, and had always asked for permission before.  _

  


_ Gawking at the coral wig she wore, his lips pressed and curled with displeasure. After tugging her arms into the sleeves, she carefully, but with hesitation, reached over to undo the dyed fibers attached to her natural hair until the chestnut locks graced the top of his jacket.  _

  


_ His shoulders relaxed and there’s an exhale of relief when she does this. Every night, Ben’s statue posture never changed until the pink wig was gone and she was clothed again. Almost like he’s looking for someone within her, or perhaps he saw the real her like this. Rey doesn’t know, she’s never asked.  _

  


_ She doesn’t want to break the illusion for him. _

  


Rey vaguely wonders if Ben would —

  


_ No,  _ she quickly thinks and shoves the vibrating phone back into her pocket. It feels like a burden, knowing that he worries and genuinely cares. Rey doesn’t want to drag someone like him into her world, where she’s scraping the bottom of the barrel to survive. Ben has pushed countless times to let him help, to enter her life without barriers, but Rey swallows her pride and pushes on, knowing he’ll find someone better to spend his time and money on.

  


The pity party he gives at the Empire is enough.

  


It’s a nice thought, though.

  


“Well, well,” a gravelly calm voice breaks into the rigid wing and pulls Rey out of her never-ending thoughts. The hairy legs of a tarantula crawl up the hollow valley of her spine. It joins the alarm bells ringing in the crevices of her mind, spelling the idea of danger in red bold letters. “We found our favorite plunked flower, boys.”

  


She's starting to believe the bus didn’t break down by accident, but rather, it was planned. 

  


Their distressing steps matched the particularity haunting laughter from them as it bounces off the old, cracked buildings. It’s measured yet unnatural, equalling to the dreadful New York weather.

  


Her heart beats awfully in the column of her throat, closing the airways with an unexpected choke. She felt her chest strain and suddenly it's hard to breathe, shallow wheezes surpassing her lips. An obvious fear takes over and activates her fight-or-flight instinct.

  


Rey makes the impulsive decision to run, clasping her fingers around the frontal flaps of her jacket. The fatigue of work melts away as she keeps sprinting, adrenaline gushing through her veins as she turns at different corners to lose them. Their bellowing stride continued to push closer and close, each one of them howling at one another to see who can, quote on quote, “ _ get the flowered whore first _ .”

  


She should have known Snoke would send his dogs after her. She should have called Ben.

  


Rey makes a turn into a conjoining alley leading her to a busier street side, night businesses still open with customers starting to head home. However, someone grabs the collar of her jacket and throws her back into the darkness of the alley, into a thick pair of awaiting arms.

  


At the top of her lungs, she screams!

  


“Help!” Rey shouts, kicking her legs to throw them off balance, and shoved a battered sneak into the gut of one of them. “Someone, please, help!” Their grip is solid and refuses to let her go as she fights and squeals for attention.

  


One of the masked guards tied a red gag around her mouth and a different one held her legs, binding the crimson cloth around her ankles. The man who holds her has a villainous filthy chuckle as he sticks his hand under the old material, fondling her breasts and pinches her nipples. He gives another snicker when her shirt was ripped right in the middle, pebbling goosebumps on her skin because of the cold air.

  


It terrifies Rey, wiggling from his grasp momentarily, but he pins her body against the closest wall. He hurls her with rough movements, a powerful arm pressed against her shoulder blades. Raw gashes form when the red brick scratches her skin and a pool of iron materializes in her mouth. The blood soaked the cloth in her mouth, deepening the scarlet color it already had.

  


The guard who detains Rey thrusts her arms behind, wrapping another lane of rope around her wrist to keep her immobilized. His mouth comes over her shoulder, hot breath coating her ear in a vile suspicion. “How about we have some fun again before we take you to your new home?”

  


The thought sent chills down her body and she cried, the sound muffled and spit gathered with blood. 

  


Rey was right. She’s going to join Melody soon.

  


“Shall we have another go, boys?” another states and Rey quickly shakes her head when she hears the echoed beats of zippers being drawn, attempting to push them away, but it’s unsuccessful.

  


She knows it's useless, but Rey tries to scream again when her gag drips down and  _ prays  _ that someone could hear her. However, these types of neighborhoods tend to keep to themselves, realizing she’s in the junction close to her apartment. No one will pick up the receiver to call for help unless there’s a rotting body on the streets.

  


Rey was done for.

  


“My cock has severely needed a tight pussy,” a different guard mutters, tearing her thin black leggings down the middle. The clothing pools at her ankles along with her underwear. The same pair of hands shred Ben’s jacket, making her scream again when he reaches her shirt and that too becomes destroyed. 

  


Tears rasp her cheeks. A thick palm comes to her mouth and fixes the gag, their hands kneading at the skin. They pulled the demolished scraps, throwing it aside until she’s naked in the middle of an alley with nothing but her shoes.

  


“Now, now,” the same voice from earlier grabs her cheeks, pulling her back to look at their distorted scarlet and silver masks. They crowded around her, hands lazily stroking their semi-hard cocks. Rey could feel the First Order symbol pressed against her skin, marking its evil print to make it clear who’s in charge. “This will only hurt a little.” His penis taps on the globes of her ass before a hand comes down to slap it. She jolts, but her body surrenders at the moment, shrugging into the monumental meaning of his words.

  


Well, it was a shitty life, anyway. 

  


Closing her eyes, Rey accepts the fate that the all-mighty and righteous God has given up on her. If this is how she was meant to die, then so be it.

  


The man cackles as he rubs himself on the skin, marking her with pre-cum, and beckons the others to touch her like before when she was held down on that cold, steel table. She pressed her forehead on the brick, a stream of fresh tears rolling down her cheeks as they went on with their planned invasion.

  


Their laughter and words faded as her mind dwindled from the current reality and sent her to a misty field with blue sunflowers filed in perfect lines surrounding the area she stood. It wasn’t raining liquid diamonds as before and the sky above was still dark, not letting the sunlight shine through the gray clouds. However, patches of opaque rays fell on the ebony dirt, allowing inelegant vines of rose thrones to grow. 

  


And in the middle of the meadow, dressed in inky robes with gold thread sewed into the material, was her angel. His locks swept in the wind, framing the dark crown of rubies on his head to glimmer with limited brightness. Her angel wore a smile, bright and wide like she hasn’t seen before.

  


Her angel looks like Ben.

  


A jointed gasp in fear reverberated off the damp alley. Their footsteps moved backward at a slow pace, curses falling from their lips in question to whatever it is they were witnessing. She could hear one of them stumbling over a pile of boxes, panic heightening in their breathing.

  


Rey kept her eyes shut tight, ignoring the fingernails digging into her skin and the unexpected low growling of dogs, but it disrupted her dream world. She could no longer see the hills of unique flowers growing with each stride of her gown. Her smiling angel, Ben, disappeared too; faded into the hazy breeze like a howling autumn wind carrying colored leaves.

  


“What the fuck is that?!” cussed the man behind her. He throws her onto the ground with an untimely strength; her body splashes into the musky sewer water and head bashes against the concrete ground. She coughs over the blaring shots from a gun and ferocious barking of dogs. There’s a blur of white noise playing, and it distorts her blurry vision even further. 

  


The desperate grunts of men mingle with the beats of cracking bones and screams, barrels of gunshots being fired, and bouncing off the building. Over the explosions of fighting and violence, someone calls her name repeatedly, but it’s an ocean away; muffled with waves and unanticipated struggle.

  


_____

  


A soft material touches her skin, but it becomes damp from the dripping water of her body. Tender fingers stroke her cheeks, a voice urging her to wake up. Instead, Rey groans against the cloth when her body gets scooped up by a gentle pair of hands. She feels weightless, head lulling to the side, and her cheek pressed against a shoulder blade.

  


These same hands place her somewhere else, far from the noise, and there’s a smooth, cotton surface she’s placed on. They carefully undo the chains of twine binding her mouth, hands, and ankles. 

  


“Rey, please look at me,” they painfully beg.

  


With hesitation, her eyes flutter open. She’s greeted with a familiar mop of raven hair curtaining a pale face covered in beauty marks. Rey once dreamt about seeing them this close, wishing to trace them for hours with her finger, and count each one with her lips. 

  


Maybe she’s already in the afterlife, getting her wish of a “ _ thank you for joining us”  _ present.

  


Rey focuses on the acrid liquid staining his white t-shirt. Surely, she must be in Heaven, because Ben Solo wears nothing else other than the color black.

  


He pulls her close, and her eyes follow the thick path of his neck. His lips moved, forming rapid sentences, but the words slurred and sounded like a ringing pin drop. There’s a wild terror in his amber eyes that mimic a violent mauve flame in the center. 

  


Rey watches as he curses, looking over his shoulder then back at her with desperate panic. His hand sticks out, and a blanket materializes from thin air. Ben makes fast work to cover her body, but he’s cautious about her fresh wounds. He wraps her like a tight burrito, which makes her feel safe.

  


Ben barks orders to someone named Cardo over the fighting. She doesn’t hear a response but looks as a shadow moves from the corner of her eye, running towards the scene with a forming shape of a man. This must have been the unseen person who handed Ben the blanket because logically making a piece of cloth appear out of nothing is simply impossible to achieve.

  


“Do you have a death wish?” She questions and Ben shots his attention back to her, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

  


Although Rey felt secure, she pushed him off with what little wiggle room she had. Ben, with much distaste, and sat her up on the brick wall. He’s tender about keeping her head upright, unfazed from the tint of blood on his palm.

  


“I’m getting you out of here.” He draws his cellphone out after wiping his hand on his dark jeans, fumbling to send a quick message to someone.

  


Her hand sticks out of the warm wrappings, trying to claw his phone. “You’re making things worse!” Rey raised her voice. It cracks over the sound of gunshots and manic laughter. “You’re going to get us both killed!”

  


His mouth twitches. “I’m only trying to—”

  


“This is part of the job!” Rey bursts out and he’s taken back. 

  


An overwhelming amount of fear swells up in her chest, tightening the area, and shortening her breath. It’s not the same panic as before, it’s different this time because she couldn’t see this ridiculously kind man fight her battles; not when it came with the territory and she accepted that fact long ago. If Snoke learns about tonight, which he will, he will personally see her beheaded and dump her body in the Hudson River. He’d make Rey watch as he tortures Ben, letting her beg for mercy before he finishes the job. 

  


No, she couldn’t let that happen.

  


He exhales a deep sigh, holding his hands up slowly to admit defeat. However, she could see the anger bubbling in his eyes, with mulberry tones with trimming strands of gold before it implodes to his original color. 

  


“I asked you once to let me help you, but do you trust me?” His voice is calm, but there’s an underbelly of impatience. Her eyes narrowed, shifting between Ben and his hand. She grips the blanket close, wary about his question. 

  


“Do you trust me?” Ben asks again, keeping a hand planted on the brick wall next to her head so she doesn’t see the fighting going on, but the sounds of crying men were unmistakable, anyway. 

  


His other hand extends out, palm facing the sky, but his eyes remain on her.

  


In some cynical way, Rey trusts him. 

  


Despite being unaware of his motions, there’s a small piece of her heart curved out for Ben Solo and the tiny sliver of trust she has given him. It became established on the first night they met, expanding during their brief bickering and conversations. He gifted her more than she has ever gotten in her entire lifetime in just one month, specifically the treasured handkerchief that weighs inside her forgotten bag. Ben has done nothing wicked during his paid time and respected her privacy and boundaries.

  


Even now, Rey could tell that he’s fighting within himself to disobey her words and whisk her away to who knows where. 

  


She wants to say no; she doesn’t trust him, but that’s a lie Rey couldn’t commit to. It’s giving in to the selfish seed within her, the one that’s tired of living the way she does with terror crippling her from the inside which makes her want to go away with Ben. 

  


Rey wants to be free of this pain. 

  


Swallowing her pride, she reaches to touch his hand, and a jolt of electricity rolls through her arm. It’s a prickly sensation that runs through her skin and she feels like it has lifted a sudden veil off her vision, like something she needs to remember, but there’s a foggy haze still creeping around. 

  


Stuttering out an exhale, Ben tights his grip and nods. His shoulders fall with slightly relaxed ease before he bends down to pick her up like she weighs nothing. Once he has her secured in his arms, Ben darts his way out of the alley and shouts to someone to open the door of an awaiting car.

  


An ear-splitting ache pounds throughout her head, thunderous in agony and causes her to whimper in pain, but Ben is careful with his quick stride. As they made their way towards the vehicle and away from the scene, something otherworldly caught her eye. Her jaw dropped because she could swear a giant three-headed dog was chewing on a body. Rey blinks, but the image reminders; the man’s mask destroyed, ripped apart, and his face likewise littered with deep gashes. Their arms flared out, pleading for help before he dropped limply on the ground and a pool of blood surrounded him.

  


Ben helps her into the car, unaware of what she witnessed, and takes care of securing her with a seatbelt. 

  


“You’ll be safe now, Persephone,” Ben says, tone at a near mumble and breathless. 

  


He closed the door and suddenly, they were off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to the Petals playlist on[Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3XVZpOsLMedm3Lvq4g6BVb?si=evH9_ii_Q-ON4QgqK30LvQ)!
> 
> Inspiration for this chapter;   
> [WAP](https://open.spotify.com/album/2ogiazbrNEx0kQHGl5ZBTQ?si=VdGQDJSdRr21SgWiC5umWA)  
> [Thotiana (Remix)](https://open.spotify.com/album/0IXOabBn5QDPfpFJLMNmEg?si=1fjnhXaTQMaJptetb3fhHw)  
> 
> 
> Thank you for reading, remember that comments and kudos make me happy! And please take care of yourself mentally if this chapter was too much. ❤️❤️ 
> 
> **Summary:** Kylo Ren has been paying for Rey’s time at the Empire club for the last month. Snoke, much in his dislike of Ren, takes matters into his own hands and forces Rey into his office one night to pursue her. He asks Petals who he is, but Rey doesn’t say anything about him, or his real name. Later that night, the bus broke down and Rey was forced to walk home. The Praetorian Guards find her, under Snoke’s orders, to kill her but they decided to have one last ‘go’ with her before they murder her. Rey tries to run and scream for help, but it's useless. Just when she had given up on all hope, Ben came in. 
> 
> [A quick and dirty guide for writing a strip.](https://dear-indies.tumblr.com/post/76313129829/a-quick-and-dirty-guide-for-writing-stripperstrip)  
>  [Writing exotic dancers.](https://referenceforwriters.tumblr.com/post/42473496622/writing-exotic-dancers)  
>  [Inspiration behind Rey’s performance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGcqLGFmKsQ) along with the WAP TikTok dance. 
> 
> As always, here are some links to education on DVA and ways to help SA victims! 
> 
> [UN](https://www.un.org/en/events/endviolenceday/)  
>  [Break The Cycle](https://www.breakthecycle.org/blog/it%E2%80%99s-national-domestic-violence-awareness-month)  
>  [National DV Hotline](https://www.thehotline.org/)  
>  [Take A Stand](https://ncadv.org/take-action)  
>  [SWOPUSA](https://swopusa.org/donate/)  
>  [Black Sex Workers Collective](https://www.blacksexworkercollective.org/donate-1)  
>  [SWCFund](https://www.gofundme.com/f/SWCFund)  
>  [SWOP Behind Bars](https://www.swopbehindbars.org/donate/)  
>  [RAINN (I've worked with them before!)](https://donate.rainn.org/donate)  
>  [NSVRC](https://www.nsvrc.org/donate)  
> 
> 
> I’m still on a Twitter hiatus, but follow me on the [bird app](https://twitter.com/theyellowsaber)  
>  for updates!


	5. swear on the river

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _*waves*_ Here’s a little update for you all! Hope you’re all safe and having a good holiday season! If there’s something I didn’t tag, please let me know since this is a quick little update.
> 
> **Triggers**  
>  Mention of blood  
>  Refusal of hospitalization  
>  Feelings of wanting to runaway  
>  Mention of body injury  
> 

“No.”

“Rey, this is serious.”

“No.”

“I need to take you to a hospital.”

“No.”

“You’re still bleeding. I’m worried you’ll suffer from a concussion.”

“I said no, Ben.” Rey tried to keep her voice leveled, but it wavered, defeating her sense of confidence. She ignored the trickling of liquid running down her neck and instead focused on the tinted partition ahead. She traced the hazy silhouette of the driver and watched their subtle movements as they merged into the late night city traffic. 

The engine roared with life and drew out the sounds of limbs being ripped apart from her ears. The screams of those men became faint as the driver sped away from the scene in record time and jerked in random corners. 

Looking out the window, the buildings twisted into a grey blur. The shadows bent shades of black mist and swallowed the car in darkness. The car mimicked the feel of gallivanting battle horses on black pavement as they raced through to defeat an enemy. Rey must have hit her head hit, because she faintly heard the trotting of horse's hoofs — like a pleasant stroll through Central Park on a horse-drawn carriage ride or a trip through a meadow of wildflowers. In the low light, she could still see the driver swerving past cabs and lit up purple Lyft signs. The streetlights grew brighter and the solid form of pedestrians, tourists, and late night vendors came into full focus. 

From the busy sidewalk and glimmering billboard lights, they must be somewhere in Times Square.

Her eyebrows furrowed. Traveling from her neighborhood to the destination hotspot of the city would have taken forty minutes on the C train at the Kingston stop. It couldn’t have been over ten minutes since Ben showed up. How did they get to Times Square so quickly?

“I only want to make sure you’re okay.” His voice dipped in concern and frustration. Ben slowly turned to face her, but his worry made her snap.

“I fucking said no, so drop it!” Rey watched his reflection in the tinted window as he sat back in his seat with pursed lips. She rarely cursed, only in times of exhaustion and fear. 

The outside chatter polluted the air between them until the driver made a turn and continued down a quieter street.

Guilt settled where her tension war and a rush of heat colored her cheeks. Rey remembered how scared Ben was when he found on the floor. His perfect skin wrinkled and his voice quivering in fear. He risked his life to save her — her brooding knight in a white t-shirt, now strained with blood and sewage water. 

Rey settled back and watched his fingers twitch from the corner of her eye. They curled into a fist and his knuckles turned pale before undoing themselves. He rubbed his palm down the length of his thigh before straightening in his seat and pulled the seatbelt away from his chest, like the safety harness was suffocating him. 

He was uncomfortable and couldn’t sit still for long. His fingers fidgeted for something to grab on to, so Ben dug his fingers into his ebony hair and exhaled. His locks of hair curled into a disarray and framed his face beautifully; as if he were a king who just woke up from a nap and experienced a vivid dream. Rey tried not to stare, but soon she found her head turning to look at his features profoundly. 

For the last month, she had grown accustomed to his presence. She’s seen every beauty mark and scar on his visible flesh under the dim lighting, yet she yearns to learn what lays under the skin. Without realizing it, Rey learned his tails and calmed his anger with a simple touch. It was enough to make her heart squeeze with anxiety when his lips pressed together and his jaw grind as he mulled over his thoughts. 

Rey looked away before he noticed her staring, catching the Columbus Avenue sign as the driver turned onto 86th. Ben twisted his massive body and leaned forward slightly. From the window’s reflection, she realized his lip quivering with hesitation. “It will only be a quick check-up at the nearest hospital. We’ll be in and out within the hour, Rey. I’ll handle—”

“What part of I’m fucking fine don’t you get!” she snapped and bared her teeth like a feral desert animal fighting for her last meal scrap. Rey momentarily felt dizzy, but she grounded herself. “I don’t need to go to a doctor, or hospital, and I sure as hell don’t need your goddamn pity or charity! So stop fucking asking me and take me home!” 

The sounds of the New York City streets faded into a quiet blur. Her chest heaved, trying to control her breathing. It was the only sound reverberating in the car. Ben didn’t yell or fight his reasoning. He didn’t falter away from her comments or announced they’re going to the hospital regardless of her wishes. Instead, the worry lines on his forehead deepened, but his glance softened and something sparked in his eyes — a sadness mixed with pride and… tenderness?

His hand extended between the middle seat, and Rey immediately backed away. He stopped and waited for her silent permission. Her eyes darted between his hand and his face, waiting for the strike that usually came after from someone else. 

_ He is not Snoke…  _ She gulped and gave Ben a subtle nod. Her body tensed when his hand came to touch her cheek, forming waves of raised hair and bumps on her skin as he rubbed the surface with gentle care. Ben kept his eyes focused on her, and it allowed for her stress to melt away by a small amount. 

She missed his touch immediately when he pulled away, but her eyes averted from his when she realized the smudge on his thumb was blood. 

“This was never about pity or charity, Rey.” Ben kept his voice low and gentle, pulling a handkerchief from his jean pocket. He brought the material up to her cheek again to clean rather than offer a caressing touch. She focused on the tinted screen again, because she didn’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes. 

“I am genuinely worried about your well-being.” He folded the cloth and wiped lightly. 

Rey swallowed the lump in her throat and pushed his hand away, sinking into the seat. Her chest tightened and tears swelled up in her eyes, threatening to bleed out because this…  _ man  _ believed she’s worth an ounce of worry. Her heart squeezed because life has starved her from understanding this level of emotion, but also she wanted to hate Ben for behaving like this.

Who exactly did he think he was?

“Take me home.” Her repeated words came out watery, but she held her chin high.

“No.” Ben was quick to respond. 

“Why not?” She gritted through her teeth. 

“Because it’s dangerous.” 

“Says who?” 

Rey knew it was a pointless question to ask from the moment the words left her lips. The name of her attacker was solid on both their tongues, but neither voiced it out loud. She feared saying his name would cause him to materialize in the car, right in between them. The old man never fought his own battles or took care of his dirty business himself, but Snoke could kill Ben, and her, with a swift motion. He had concealed weapons under his clothing. 

Ben sighed with irritation and turned in his seat, pulling out his cellphone to type a quick message. The faint tapping was the only sound in the car before he closed the screen and ignored the first  _ ping  _ of the device following right after. 

“I would like my bag back…” Rey requested after a pause and let her shoulders shrug. The anger she felt earlier withered away and clammed itself down into anxiety. She would have to start her life all over again, without a home to go to or money in her pocket to buy a meal. Ben was a nice guy, but she couldn’t burden him with her problems. She’d have to leave the city, runaway again. 

Canada was nice. Maybe they could let her in.

“I can make that happen.” Ben promised after a beat and returned the message before shoving the device into his pocket.

The shabby duffle bag and its contents were useless to her, replaceable with discounted items from any GoodWill and CVS clearance bin. Her only article of importance, however, was the handkerchief — the one-of-a-kind cloth of holographic floral designs and symbolic stitched rose Ben refused to take back. She never used it, but she couldn’t leave it anywhere, much less in a dark alley. Rey needed the patch of cloth close to her. 

As silly as the thought was, it anchored her to Ben. 

Several minutes of tense silence, listening to tires on gravel and dogs barking in the distance, passed before the driver pulled up to an elegant brownstone. The tinted window obscured her view, but the street lamps outside cast a blurry shadow of yellow light on the structure. 

Compared to other brownstones in the neighborhood, overgrown layers of thick ivy vines covered the brick exterior. It twisted upward in various loops and curls before it disappeared over the rooftop and between the broken cracks on the sidewalk. The five point leafs were a deep crimson color in the dark, but Rey was positive they’d appear orange when the light of dawn peaked over the horizon. On the first-floor window was a small garden box with two white roses blooming in dark soil. The petals of the roses seemed to shine under the moon’s light and appeared to have a crystal middle. There was another garden box on the second floor, but it lacked soil and flowers. It was merely an empty box.

After Ben helped her out of the car, Rey realized it’s the only brownstone on the entire block with an excessive plant problem. Her brows knitted. It was strange to see this much greenery outside of a home, objectively a New York home. Most New Yorkers didn’t have a small front garden, much less two garden boxes and pillars of vines growing over old brick unless they lived up-state. In fact, it was strange to think  _ this  _ was Ben Solo’s home. He didn’t need to voice it for her to know this was his house. The green creeper plants hid the dark iron layers drilled into the exposed brick, and traces of gold peaked under the polluted night sky. 

“For your safety, you won’t be returning to the Empire ever again.” Ben looped his arm around her shoulder and tugged her close to his side. She held onto the blanket and clutched her teeth to fight the cold. 

“Then what will I do to live?” Rey frowned as he led her up the stairs. She concentrated on the large matte black door with glistening gold hardware. There was a lone white rose curled above the doorknob. It had grown freshly new, possibly bloomed in the morning, but under her glance, it slowly decayed until it limped to the side. 

Ben didn’t question the phenomenon. 

“I’ll handle it.” He opened the door, but Rey pulled away from his embrace. 

“You’ve done more than I could ever repay, Ben, but you can’t say I’ll handle it and expect me to go along with it.”

“Rey.” His hand dropped to the familiar space on the small of her back. The door swung open, but he didn’t gesture for her to enter. “I can take you to a hotel if you don’t feel comfortable, but please let me help.”

The shriveled rose twig swayed with the incoming breeze. Rey followed the connecting vines spreading to the sides and tilted her head up. Despite the beauty of its overflowing garden, the brownstone reminded her of the castle from Beauty and the Beast. She had never seen the movie, but Mitaka read her the storybook version once. The details of the images were fuzzy, but taking a full deep glance of the old home, it appeared cold and unwelcoming. The gold was harsh and curved out sharply, like daggers protecting a fortress, and its iron layered over exposed brick to ward off potential break-ins.

“Are you going to keep me like a rose trapped inside a crystal dome?”

“You’re a free person, Rey. You have your free will to leave if that’s what you wish. For your safety, however, I think it’s best if you stay with me.”

Ben made it sound easy, a little too easy.

“What about my apartment?” Rey took a hesitant step inside. She glimpsed the highlighted shadows of unknown items and darkened corridors leading into the rest of the house. 

“I will talk to your landlord in the morning and break your lease.” Ben closed the door gently and avoided creating any loud noise. “If there is anything specific you need, please let me know and I can grab it before leaving.” He punched a code into a box next to the doorframe, blue light filtering from a small rectangle. It beeped after a few seconds and relief entered his shoulders with an exaggerated sigh. From the corner of her eye, Ben visually got younger as worry escaped his body at recorded speed, but the lines on his forehead were still prominent. Rey fought the temptation to extend her hand and comfort him. She bit her tongue instead and swayed in the hallway as lights flickered on and the heater kicked. She blinked a few times to adjust to the lighting and warmth returned to her body when Ben came by her side again, his large hand on the small of her back. 

“I can call an in-house doctor if hospitals make you uncomfortable…” The look of his deep brown eyes almost made her want to say yes. The word played on her tongue, but Rey shook her head and turned away. She knew exactly what Ben was trying to provide with his insistence of visiting a physician; a peace of mind and the start of long awaited justice, maybe a taste of recovery too. 

Rey, however, didn’t want fairness or due-process. She wanted to forget all of it — even for just a little while.

He offered no argument, or visible disappointment in her choice, and gestured her towards a tucked elevator beside the stairs. It looked designed to appear like a closet, but then the criss-crossed iron gates stuck out from the side. The elevator was large enough to fit both of them, including Ben’s height and width, and had the structural built of the 1920s but restored with new day technology. She stepped inside and tucked herself in the corner, against the modern black and white wallpaper, while Ben closed the iron gate and pressed a button labeled ‘MB’. 

They stood in silence as the elevator took them up; the gears contrasting and groaning from the weight. 

“I wanted to say thank you, by the way…” Rey coughed, holding the blanket up to her neck. “For… you know… saving me and getting me out of there…” 

Ben remained quiet with his hands tucked into his pockets until the elevator stopped. He opened the door but made no intention of moving. He faced her with a pained expression and his arm holding the gate. 

“I will always come to your rescue, I swear it.” The colors of his eyes shifted from the brown she has grown to admire to a dim tone of gold that sparked her interest. Under the elevator lights, they shined to reflect copper, nickel, and other precious gems hidden deep underground. His eyes pulled her in, almost like she’s free falling into a pit of forgotten memories and treasured moments that didn’t belong to her — as though they were part of another time. 

Rey felt weightless, suspended by an invisible string around her ring finger, and tugged her mind in a prickly sensation. Everything vanished from her thoughts — the recent experience in the alley, her deep-rooted fears, and her cushion of safety tucked with Ben. 

In the depth of his eyes, the silhouettes of two individuals formed. A reflection of their mighty royal status pooled on the bank of a darkened river with forgotten and lost objects. The back of her mind rippled with recollection and her heart skipped every other beat, as if urging her to remember something important — a memory that wasn’t her own.

_ “Rose petal, you must be careful when visiting the river.” A voice nearby spoke with a smile, but concern lingered on their tongue as they inched closer. _

_ “I fear nothing of this world. There is beauty all around, even in the darkest of holes.” She smiled, a wide toothy grin, as she skipped alongside the river. Her long dress shimmered into a short style and hit just above her knees. The pink aspects highlighted her natural divide glow, and the tiara on her head molded into a series of crystallized flowers. _

_ “A task I am sure you will excel with your colorful gardens, my love, but please stay wary about the river. I wouldn’t want my young queen to fall in and get swept away with the forgotten dreams of mortals.” _

_ “If I were to fall, then I know you will come to my rescue.” she halted, turning around to face her companion with furrowed eyebrows. “Unless this is your evil scheme… Letting me drown in the River Styx.” _

_ The man laughed, a deep belly laugh that only very few others have had the privilege of listening. He drew closer and the long robes of darkness he wore shifted into a casual attire; basic black jeans and t-shirt with leather boots. The pale of his skin glimmered under the false sky of stars, and clusters of marks peppered the surface in fated spots with a faded bite mark on his neck. His hair was long, tied together with a golden band of pink hued gems shaped like roses. It started as a joke for her husband to avoid the strands of ebony hair falling over his eyes during his meeting, but every morning she picked out a new style for him — as a reminder of her love when they were apart, even in their kingdom. _

_ His smile, however, was entirely Hades. _

_“I would never let my darling wife fall into the River Styx. What would that say about me as a husband, or even as a king?”_ _His words didn’t convince her, even as Hades stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her waist. He kissed her forehead, then her cheek and nose to make mends._

_ She hummed, arms crossed over her chest, and Hades let out another laugh. _

_ “Then what must I do to persuade my stubborn wife of my truth?” He tucked curls of her hair behind her ear and waited, his thumb rubbing on her cheek. She fought the urge to shiver under his glance and eyed the river instead. A wide grin broke out on her features while staring into his golden eyes. Her finger circled on the wrinkled patterns of his shirt and tapped on his firm chin before speaking. _

_ “Since you asked, then I will deliver, love. You must swear on the river, my king — swear you will never let me fall, in this river or anywhere in this world, space, and time, and no matter how far apart we are. As my husband, swear you will come to my rescue and never let harm come to me.”  _

_ “So my queen is asking for marriage vows?” _

_ Her shoulders shrugged. “We never had a proper marriage ceremony. Hera still complains about the lack of protocol whenever I visit mother on Olympus, since Hera is the Goddess of Marriage, but I believe it has something to do with her marriage with Zeus that sways her opinion. Our arguments over marriage ceremonies are lackluster, so I never bore you of the details at dinner. I prefer our affair in my gardens and your proposal gift as marriage than a typical Olympus ceremony.” _

_ “But you would like a set of vows?” _

_ “Well, since you insist, my darling husband!” Her eyelashes flared innocently, making him laugh all over again. _

_ “Then I, Hades, King of the Underworld and husband to the Goddess of Spring, my dear Persephone, make a vow to you for the rest of our days and swear on the River Styx, that I will come to your aid wherever you are in need — whether you are my Goddess or a mere mortal, I will find you and assist in your rescue. I will never let you fall, neither in the river or anywhere. I will never let harm to you, my queen, my love, and my one and only, no matter how far apart we are.” _

_ The river trembled, and the sky roared with lighting as it bound the promise for all eternity. Persephone rewarded him with a kiss that knocked them off their feet. They landed on the grey grass in a tangled ensemble of limps and desperate kisses. They broke into fits of laughter as pockets of diamonds and quartz popped from the ground and surrounded them in a rainbow sparkle of colors. They stayed on the ground for the evening, making love by the river, and ignored the calls of their staff.  _

_ Persephone didn’t care about the gems or remaining responsibilities of her new kingdom — she only had eyes for her husband, her one and only love.  _

Rey blinked, and no time had passed between them. The details of the vivid vision faded from her memory at a rapid pace. The only thing she could recall was the warm feeling coating her heart upon hearing the man recite his vows with the promise of eternity; the purity of his love sounding off to echo against the black and crystallized trees. 

Then there was his smile — Ben’s smile, the rare glimpsed toothy grin that makes her heart squeeze.

Ben waited with his arm still holding the elevator door open and looked at her with intense brows. His eyes no longer appeared pain, lost in the dark river of forgotten things, but questioned her — as if he experienced the vision too.

“Come,” he calmly gestured her out of the elevator and into the hallway. “Let’s get the cold out of your bones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *SCREAMS* WE GOT A HADES AND PERSEPHONE FLASHBACH, YAY!!!!
> 
> Listen to the Petals playlist on[Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3XVZpOsLMedm3Lvq4g6BVb?si=evH9_ii_Q-ON4QgqK30LvQ)! 
> 
> Thank you for reading, remember that comments and kudos make me happy! And please take care of yourself mentally if this chapter was too much. ❤️❤️ 
> 
> As always, here are some links to education on DVA and ways to help SA victims! 
> 
> [UN](https://www.un.org/en/events/endviolenceday/)  
>  [Break The Cycle](https://www.breakthecycle.org/blog/it%E2%80%99s-national-domestic-violence-awareness-month)  
>  [National DV Hotline](https://www.thehotline.org/)  
>  [Take A Stand](https://ncadv.org/take-action)  
>  [SWOPUSA](https://swopusa.org/donate/)  
>  [Black Sex Workers Collective](https://www.blacksexworkercollective.org/donate-1)  
>  [SWCFund](https://www.gofundme.com/f/SWCFund)  
>  [SWOP Behind Bars](https://www.swopbehindbars.org/donate/)  
>  [RAINN (I've worked with them before!)](https://donate.rainn.org/donate)  
>  [NSVRC](https://www.nsvrc.org/donate)  
> 
> 
> I’m still on a Twitter hiatus, but follow me on the [bird app](https://twitter.com/theyellowsaber)  
>  for updates!


	6. the game that started centuries ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey worried her bottom lip. She nervously sat on the kitchen island and eyed the white marble flooring with an acute interest. From the hallway, Ben mumbled a stream of curses while he fetched medical supplies. Her words of wellness fell on flat ears despite repeated statements and Ben’s stubbornness to listen. The blood had stopped dripping long ago, but he insisted on cleaning her wounds since she refused to step inside of a hospital for medical care. He didn’t, however, gesture to the fresh scar on her shoulder — a flimsy piece of broken skin still convulsing with pain, but she wouldn’t let him know that.  
> His lips continued to drop several f-bombs and rummaged around a hidden closet. It seemed to take him longer to locate the first aid kit, much to his distress.  
> It was kind of cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooooo, sorry for the late update, but I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season with your family and friends! This chapter isn’t overly gruesome, but I am posting the summary in the end notes. As always, proceed with caution as this chapter still deals with triggering topics. I have done my best to list them, but if I have any missing, please let me know so I can fix it asap!
> 
> As I like to point out once again, every survivor of assault has different coping mechanisms. Not everyone will fit in a single box, nor everyone should try to fit in one box. Rey’s emotions during this time are valid, such as any other survivor. Once more, things continue to be explained/explored in further chapters, so please have patience with me!
> 
> I also want to thank everyone who is reading and continues to show support for this story, through your comments, bookmarks, or on Twitter. I might not get to every comment, but the response and love this story gets makes me so happy! Thank you all sososo much! 
> 
> **Triggers**  
>  Mention of blood/Ichor (blood of the Gods)  
>  Panic Attack  
>  Hallucination  
>  Sudden growth of nature off skin  
>  Intention of wanting to murder an unreal individual  
>  Thought of (false) infidelity  
>  Open wounds  
>  Mention of violence  
>  Mention of needles  
>  Mention of vomit  
>  Circling thoughts of unworthiness  
> 

Rey worried her bottom lip. She nervously sat on the kitchen island and eyed the white marble flooring with an acute interest. From the hallway, Ben mumbled a stream of curses while he fetched medical supplies. Her words of wellness fell on flat ears despite repeated statements and Ben’s stubbornness to listen. The blood had stopped dripping long ago, but he insisted on cleaning her wounds since she refused to step inside of a hospital for medical care. He didn’t, however, gesture to the fresh scar on her shoulder — a flimsy piece of broken skin still convulsing with pain, but she wouldn’t let him know that. 

His lips continued to drop several f-bombs and rummaged around a hidden closet. It seemed to take him longer to locate the first aid kit, much to his distress.

It was kind of cute.

Rey exhaled, fingers rubbing the wrinkled surface of her forehead as she anxiously mulled over the massive destruction she caused. Ben shrugged the entire situation like it was no big deal. She destroyed his beautiful master bathroom and instead of getting angry; he comforted her and assisted with her…  _ accident _ . 

It was almost as if Ben had gone through the entire ordeal beforehand, which was impossible.

Every few seconds, the gruesome scene played on a loop, bringing grander details to the light, which made her scowl. The fondle of velvety thorns and silken petals haunted her skin. Her fingers gripped the sides of the hood attached to the bathrobe, forcing the thick cotton down to hide her features and growing blush, although there wasn’t another living soul in the kitchen. Droplets of her wet hair ran down the slope of her neck before being absorbed by the lush material. Goosebumps rose on her forearms, and she groaned. A thin icy breeze caused her to shiver; the open wound on her shoulder blade pulsed with life—threatening to birth another monstrosity. She bit her bottom lip to avoid hissing in pain. If she didn’t, Ben would rush in to see if she’s okay, eyes wide with worry and his forehead wrinkled in distraught.

Rey pondered if she’ll ever truly be okay, with Ben’s hovering protectiveness or not. How long would it be until this phenomenon happened again? A week, a month, a year? Rey thought long ago she had learned to control this behavior, enshrouding its living presence buried within her waking thoughts. It only occurred twice before, small manifestations during her youth that seemed slightly harmless, but Rey couldn’t voice those memories out in the open, or even to herself.

The evidence, however, was thriving in the bathroom.

_ The lights automatically hummed with life as they stepped inside. The brightness wasn’t an overly powerful white glare mimicking studio lights underlining every imperfection on her skin, like the Empire had in the dancer’s bathroom and in their make-up vanity. The electrical wires didn’t buzz frequently like in her apartment and the sparks of black voltaic didn’t burn on molded, aged wood. It was a dim yellow hue shining from the ceiling and under the skin, easy on the tired eyes and bounced off the tile floor. _

_ The bathroom was modern and minimalistic, Rey noted, with adjoining doors connected to the master bedroom and a walk-in closet, closed from her viewing, along with the hallway entrance they came from. Two glossy sinks with silver hardware — his and hers — dominated the left side of the room with large bottom cabinets hovering off the ground and two metal feet rooted in the foundation to support the weight. _

_ Mens’ grooming products cluttered one side: a jar of shaving cream, various bottles of skincare, a used hairbrush and loose floss, a black string instead of the usual white. An engraving of the letters B and H marked a blue toothbrush, still wet from prior use, which undoubtedly made the area Ben’s side of the bathroom. In between the sinks, lavender scented hand soap and lotion crowded around a nearly burned through candle — traces of roses and vanilla still lingered in the air. A glass bowl held thick and thin hair ties assorting in different sizes and color; the black and blue ties held strands of black hair, but the others, the pink, pastel hues, and yellow hair ties, remained untouched. There weren’t any signs of use from the second sink. Its sides were bare except for a single ivory cup mended with purple veins and a pink toothbrush labeled with the letters  _ R  _ and  _ P  _ — a girlfriend or a wife?  _

_ The tan lines around his ring finger still haven't faded away. She didn’t understand why it filled Rey with pride and guilt. _

_ Keeping his back turned to her, Ben twisted the knobs and a flow of water flooded out. The water rose inside the tub and he periodically checked before adjusting to find the correct temperature. She doesn’t mean to stare, but Rey watched the strain of his white t-shirt mark his back muscles vividly. She gulped, enamored with the ripples of power radiating off his body. Such a simple task and yet the amount of potent influence beaming effortlessly of Ben Solo was intoxicating. A blush of heat tainted her cheeks and Rey turned her head, focusing on the bowl of hair ties before looking up at the overhead mirror. _

_ At the sight of her reflection, Rey gasped; reddish-brown spots covered the slope of her neck in mismatching patterns, with a single trickle of yawning crimson connected to the injured artwork. Black river lines streamed from her smudged eyeliner and flowed down her cheeks with grey patches on the dip of her breasts. She could feel the tight sensation of the mask man crushing her windpipes and prevented her from being able to scream, or even cry for mercy, as the purple imprint of fingers sprinkled under the yellow lighting and specks of dried blood. _

_Rey tried to swallow the growing lump in her throat, but her chest rose and fell in quick motions._ _Her breathing became labored and short, each one zapping her willpower. She faintly heard Ben calling her, his massive steps coming closer, but the roaring in her ears made it impossible to understand what he’s saying._

_ Her body leaned forward against the unoccupied sink and gasped for deep breaths with her head hung low; her stomach churned, and knees buckled from weakness, almost giving out, but an arm around her waist held her up. The black blanket on her shoulders fell, and a shiver ran down her shine from the steamy air. She believed the panic attack was fading away with each hard breath, a short-lived one compared to the others, and Ben’s words of encouragement. _

_ “In and out.” He cooed, patting her knotted hair. “You’re doing great, just like that, Rey.” _

_ But suddenly tears burned her eyes as a throbbing in the back of her head overtook control — something erupted from her skull and upper back, excruciating and alive. The tip of her fingers rolled through the scalp of her head and felt heated bumps forming at the base of her skull. They busted with fibers of satin undulating over her palms and grew at an impossibly fast rate. _

_ Her fingers coiled around the heavy velvet touch and she slowly traced down the thickening rope with trembling fingers. Rey touched a sudden flower bud forming, and she released the material as if it burned her. _

_ “Relax, it’s okay.” Ben soothed her worry, hand gently on the back of her neck like a balm to release tension, but there’s a whimper growing in the back of her throat, accumulating fear and panic—something he couldn’t possibly understand. _

_ Rey paused in perplexity. Her nails scraped on the elegant porcelain as she picked up her burdensome head, fingers tightly woven into knuckle-white fists, as she stared at her blurry reflection in the mirror. Her usually stormy-green eyes were doe like, tarnish with an illuminating golden ring highlighting around her irises. Ben was beside her, features softened with worry and concern, but his eyes kept a focus on the mirror, waiting. _

_ Blond-tones of gleaming liquid flowed down her cheeks—washing away the grim spots and healed the contuse hills on her neck, removing the memory of another man's hand off her skin like it was a disease. Her vision blurred as each thick teardrop of supernatural gold fell, hissing on the countertop with a pale smoke rising. She witnessed blobs of silhouettes’ and color mixing and mingling in the mirror until a sole image of herself appeared clearly on the glass—chin held high and confidence oozing out of her aura, gems of white dotted her hair in beautiful braids with a crystalized headpiece of smoky quartz resting on her forehead. Her skin was bathed in specks of silver glitter and clothed with refined robes of blue silk, fitting her body like a glove. The high slit of her dress revealed a thigh permeated with golden freckles and childhood scars. Her lips were the color of the red, red rose, and an oddly familiar piece of jewelry took possession of her left ring finger, a rose quartz with a single line of black circling the middle. _

_ The image of a renewed, regal-looking Rey pressed her lips together, smiling at the quivering reality on the other side. She mouthed a single word, “Soon”. _

_ A vigorous scream flooded from the depths of her stomach and out of her throat, causing an echo-breaking crack to shrill all around the room. The glass cracked in two, right down the middle of her face, but the image of the other Rey continued to smile from the broken mirror, dimming away in a faint golden dust storm. _

_ Ben tightened his hold around her middle, his voice behaving as a mere echo against her ears. With a sudden surge of energy rippling through her bones, Rey shoved him away and rushed to the open toilet, falling to her knees, and vomited. Her esophagus burned and her muscles flexed in unyielding pain with beige chucks of salted crackers floating in the water. _

_ Rey wheezed in horror, believing the hallucination of the mirror was nothing more than a reaction of her fading panic attack. Her tears, however, carried vines of gold in their drops, painting her skin in a glint of blond as her power dulled and the compactness in her chest loosened. _

_ “I’m right here,” Ben said affectionately, setting a placid weight on her shoulders when her back straightened. It wasn’t the blanket from earlier, it was softer—a new cleaned towel that couldn’t rope around her body because of a tug of mass density weighing her down. Her fingers tighten around the cotton, covering her chest and the top of her thighs. _

_ Rey couldn’t face Ben as he crouched down, keeping a light hand on her shoulder blade before he sat beside her. She kept her eyes focused on the splashed smears of her lunch on the toilet seat, hating herself for the mess she caused. _

_ How could she apologize for this unnatural occurrence? Rey could hardly understand what happened, let alone comprehend the crawling sensation folded on her back, or the overwhelming scent of lilies and roses. A green vine slithered beside her thigh and she shut her eyes, wishing to any God listening to wake her up from this nightmare. _

_ “Rey?” he questioned, but she couldn’t face him, her chest closing again in terror. Ben quietly sighed instead, rubbing a soft thumb on her skin as their breathing sync, intimating counts of three before his voice peppered again, concern dripping in his tone. “Please look at me?” _

_ With the structure of his words, Rey knew it’s a request she can ignore. It would be so easy to remain in the safety of darkness behind her eyelids, pretending nothing happened and ignore her trembling hands. Yet the slight pressure of his fingers brought her back to the present moment. _

_ She sensed Ben’s perturbation through the stillness of his body, trickling emotion from the tips of his fingers and onto her skin. It wasn’t fear coursing through her bones as she slowly turned to look him directly in the eyes. Their breathing continued to follow the mimicking trails from earlier and she watched as his pupils shifted from pure black enveloping his eyes to a thin ring of gold, mirroring hers from the reflection, before returning to the honey-amber shade she grew accustomed to. _

I’m safe.  _ Rey remained herself, taking a shaky gasp, and her body collapsed as the last bit of her adrenaline dissolved. Ben was quick to catch her, reclining her body to rest on his chest. His arms cradled her as warmth poured in. Pressing her ear against his spoiled shirt, his heartbeat raced with irregular palpitations, thrashing with distress despite the cool features carved on to his face. The gesture was simple, but it was enough to create a fresh stream of fat tears to pour out from her being. His chest muffled her wailed sobs, vibrating on his skin as her fingers stiffed around Ben’s shirt. _

_ Rey expected him to kick her out or lock her in the bathroom and rush to call some government facility to take her away—a freak like her shouldn’t be around him or ruining his bathroom. He didn’t pressure her to stop crying or grime at her snot-covered face when he brushes her tears with the flat surface of his thumb. He doesn’t push her away when her cries become tumultuous and her breathing hitch, causing minor hiccups to manifest. He didn’t tell her to suck it up and leave his home. He does none of those things. Instead, his fingers combed through the slim vines growing from her chestnut locks with tender practice as her weeps abated. His thick fingers rubbed the surface, helping to calm the pulsing pitch of microneedles pushing out of her skull, and she could feel each strand falling away—dropping to the tile ground with small  _ thumps _. _

_ The last stem was removed, and Rey feels lighter, groaning slightly from the newfound freedom she felt. Her throbbing headache hasn’t gotten away just yet. It vibrated with the wavelengths of frustration and borderline impatience to remember something, or someone, but what exactly? _

_ Her fingers loosened their hold on Ben’s shirt as her eyes flicker open, engulfed by the scent of pomegranate permeating her nostrils. She inhaled the nostalgic aroma and watched the wrinkled material of his shirt become smooth, highlighting the shadows underneath. Rey takes a particular interest at the smudged traces and curved lines of black ink decorating his skin. She couldn’t make out any cohesion designs, but it surprised her to realize Benjamin Solo had tattoos. During the car ride, Rey hadn’t noticed the outline of designs running along his arms and disappeared behind his t-shirt. Her mind preoccupied with earlier events of the evening. But Ben Solo only wore long sleeve business shirts when he visited the Empire and refused to roll his sleeves up during their private time despite the heat inside the room. This must be the reason. _

_ “How do you feel?” he broke her attention with a sincere question. _

_ Following her gaze up, Rey stared at his defined jawline prickled with growing stubble. His stance was relaxed, but Ben acted stiff with alarm, as if he’s waiting for something to pop from the shadows—or perhaps for another anomalous condition on her part. _

_ “I don’t know,” her brows furrowed, locating a single green vine curled on his shoulder. It patted his cheek benevolently, pushing his hair behind and rolled over the size of his cutely large ears. A desire to touch them grows, wishing to swap away the plant and feel his ears for herself, but she doesn’t—clutching her fingers around his shirt again, feeling secure in his embrace. Ben didn’t react to the living plant or her creased features. He appeared to lean into the vine's touch, as if this is something he missed. _

_ They don’t speak. Five minutes could have passed, and she wouldn’t have noticed. The morning light could pierce through the window any second, but Rey didn’t care—she needed to hold on to Ben, anchor herself in the reality of everything. Rey didn’t like to depend on people, much less someone who  _ should  _ have forced her out of his home by now. She was damaged goods, an orphan nobody wanted to keep around. Rey was nothing but a dirty speck on humanity. What type of respectful man would want her around, much less accept her now with her freak ability of being able to produce nature out of her body? She doesn’t deserve his kindness, or his generosity. _

_ Ben would never see her the same, not after everything she caused. _

_ “Stop that.” He demanded. _

_ “W-what?” Rey blinked, looking up to find him staring right back at her. _

_ “You deserve the world, Rey. You deserve to be respected and cherished,” he twirled a lock of her hair, roping it behind her ear without shifting his eyes. His eyes softened with an emotion she wouldn’t dare voice. “You should be treated like a queen, adored and beloved by many.” _

_ “Ben—” _

_ “This is not pity, Rey. You have more power in your pinky than you realize. I only want to help; in any way you feel comfortable allowing me to.” _

_ His features sparkled in genuine admiration. The sight was too much to bear for her and she turned away, schooling her discomfort under his intense stare. She couldn’t look him in the eyes and feel the weight of his worry on her shoulders. Rey refused to answer with a statement, and he didn’t push for a response. _

_ The thought of leaving was right on the edge of her mind. The idea was right on her lips, ready to voice. He shouldn’t have to worry or care about her—she’s a grown adult. She could find her way in this world without him. Rey had done it once before yet there’s a nagging thought wondering what if she let him? Would it be everything she wanted, or her ultimate downfall? _

_ She hissed when the soreness of her headache turned into agony. The pain stouts down her neck and the column of her spine; her limbs numb with extreme heat and a sharp stabbing sensation trickling her back and knees. Rey tried to push away from Ben, but something tugged on her skin harshly, drawing blood from her shoulder, and she screamed. A cold sweat dotted from her forehead and she was almost blinded from the torture as another rip teared her skin. _

_ “Listen to the sound of my voice.” Ben cooed, scooping her up in his arms, mumbling curses in another language, and carefully stood. _

_ Tears blurred her vision once more. Flora filled her nostrils, and her nails clawed his shirt; small holes appearing in the material and she scraped his printed skin. Ben doesn’t hiss, but there’s a determination in his stride to go somewhere. A heaviness followed their movements, dragging along the tile floor of the shower; it pulled on her skin, pulsing with life like a heartbeat—her heartbeat. _

_ With ease, Ben slowly lowered her body into the tub filled to the brim with warm water. He dripped her toes and waited for her reaction before she nodded, and was fully submerged. Rey cried with a sigh of relief; the water was refreshing on her bruised and tired skin, partnered with the abnormal layer lashed on to her skin, but the pain continued threefold. Her towel floated on the surface, covering her body from the clear water, and it sunk. _

_ Ben stayed for a few moments, his body still like a graveyard statue covered with withered plants growing on his shoulders. When he rose, Rey quickly grabbed him—water rushing out, slashing the floor and soaked his shirt and jeans. _

_ “Don’t leave me!” she choked on fear, gripping his arm with a vice. _

_ Ben, for all of his composure and brave facade, released the tension in his shoulders and nodded. For a moment, he leaned close to her forehead, lips ready to punker, before thinking better of it.  _

_ “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.” He promised in a whisper, enduring a painfully small smile for her. His words helped to ease her stress, but Rey was reluctant to let go of his warmth, almost afraid he’ll fade into dust. _

_ Shallowing the lump in her throat, she roped their fingers together, skin touching sleek marble, and looked at him for reassurance. Ben doesn’t complain, but he’s surprised with her sudden bloom of affection. He doesn’t voice it, but his eyes speak for him—she felt pride in being able to read him so easily, even after a short amount of time. His thumb rubbed along the skin before taking a seat on the wet floor and kept a careful watch on her. _

_ “I’m sorry.” _

_ Ben rose a brow, asking a silent question. _

_ “For destroying your bathroom…” They each turned to look at the damage behind. Thick and thin ropes of creeping plants coiled on the floor, lengthening their size, and grew upward. They seeped into the sink, crawling over broken pieces of reflection, and audible groans of metal work cracked in their silence. The petals of black roses were crumbled on the ground and drifted over thin veins of water before clogging the shower drain. From the showerhead, thin strands of green poison slithering out like sickly tentacles with unbleached flowers. They swayed with a nonexistent breeze and the scent of multiflorous picked up. Under her gaze, the buds expanded into open petals of rose and lilies; each colored in deep shimmering colors of gray and royal purple before melting into light pastels, glittering with rare gems before they bristled and covered the ceiling with their dead florets. _

_ Her back throbbed again with the knowledge she didn’t want to face. Ben’s new bathroom greenhouse was connected to her—to the strain of burning pain on her back. The individual filaments twitched at their own accord and curled into the tub, mingling with the dirt-filled water she stayed in. _

_ “It’s not your fault,” Ben explained, turning to face her. _

_ “It is—” _

_ “Rey, it’s something you couldn’t control, and you didn’t expect to happen.” Ben kept his eyes on her as he raised their joint hands, bringing his lips gently on her skin, which eradicated goosebumps along her forearms. “Don’t apologize for being uniquely you.” _

_ She didn’t have the words to respond, so Rey dropped her gaze. _

_ With his t-shirt damp, Rey could see the outlines of his tattoos; a three-headed dog with red glowing eyes on his right shoulder, different floral patterns coating his ribcage, elegant foreign handwriting on his bicep, and an outline of red lips over his heart. It covered his sleeves in cultivated portraits of monsters, gardens, and a woman who resembled Rey. In the middle of his chest, two crowns were interlocked with a mute highlight of silver and gold dancing its edges. She squinted her eyes to see better, but then Ben cleared his throat. _

_ “If you want to bathe, I can go—” her grip on his fingers intensifies, and her back stiffened. Ben immediately took his words back and inched closer, taking up her personal space, but she doesn’t care. “Or I can stay, if you wish.” _

_ “I… I don’t know how to get rid of them.” Tears trickled her eyes again. “I don’t know how to control them either.” _

_ “I’ll remove them, but only if you want me to.”  _

_ She nodded, bringing her knees close to her chest, and allowed the towel to float down the tub. Slowly, Rey turned her back and focused on the line of crystals set on the window. They varied in sizes and colors, but the pink heart shade called her attention—rose quartz, like the ring she wore from the mirror. _

_ “Consent requires words, Rey.” _

_ Her eyes blinked once, then twice before looking up at him. _

_ “Please?” Her voice turned small, but Ben understood. He held her fingers when he stood up and readjusted to sit on the edge of the tub, keeping their eyes locked together. _

_ “I need you to relax.” Ben placed a considerate hand on her shoulder. “It’s going to hurt you more if it’s pulled by force.” _

_ “Have you done this before?” _

_ He ignored her question. Rey didn’t voice it again when his large hand easily curled around the massive vine on her upper shoulder, the one which had ripped earlier and caused her to bleed.  _

_ “Breathe and listen to the sound of my voice.” _

_ Her chest heaved with slow inhales and exhales, following a count of three, and their breathing synced again. She could feel his fingers coaxing the plant under his palm and slightly tugged on her skin. Rey hissed, biting her lip down to prepare for the ache, but it never did. _

_ “I need you to trust me before I do this.” _

_ “I do.” _

_ “It’ll hurt, but not a lot.” _

_ “Promise?” _

_ “I promise.” _

_ Ben said nothing after that. His body leaned forward slightly and hovered over her, but she didn’t feel possessed or worried for his actions. She trusts him, even if that trust was fragile and unforeseen. Her tension lightened, closing her eyes to sigh as his lips faintly pressed against her skull and he removed the agonizing vines. _

“A clogged shower is the least of my worries, Per-… Rey.” Ben coughed his mistake and calmly entered the kitchen. Her cheeks blushed bright red, but she held on to his gaze with the hood brushing over the tops of her eyes and watched as he placed the medical box on the kitchen island. The box itself was small, but it seemed smaller in Ben’s hands as he opened it. The first aid kit looked like any ordinary kit one would find in a Walgreens or CVS—a small tin box with a red cross printed on the top with two metal clamps to hold it secure.

While the outside appeared modern, the inside was ancient with blackened edges and crumbled hills of multicolored herbs at the bottom.

Vials with cork lids held together by a string of leather tied around the middle and across their labelled names—eucalyptus, rosemary, goldenrod, and others she couldn’t read. A jar of honey sealed with a thick layer of cloth and a rubber band at the top. It laid beside the single use of gauze dressing, sticky tape, and distilled water, but her eyes turned to a small leather-bound journal hidden in between the cleansing wipes and bandages.

It was the oldest thing Rey has ever seen.

Flecks of golden letters etched in the deep leather gored with blotched dots of multicolored dyes and penetrated scratches. Its spine broken with strings peeking from the ends and smudged with plant roots. Ben grabbed the old journal with care, undoing the thin thread holding it closed and flipped through the brittle ivory pages. Its edges were the same faded tone of gold, but still marveled under the light. His eyes scanned the dignified letters, pieces of dried leaves and flowers worn into the pages, and diagrams like a scientist would his experiment findings until he reached his desired page.

Satisfied, Ben undid the knot holding the vials together and grabbed the one labelled  _ yarrow _ , setting it alongside before taking the contemporary supplies. He moved with the grace of a God and the skill of a surgeon prepping, focused and determined.

When her eyes felt heavy on him, Ben peered from under his lashes. She doesn’t turn away, tilting her chin towards the book.

“Are you a doctor?” Rey shamelessly questioned, shoving her hands into the pocket of her robe. Her fingers toyed with the heart-shaped quartz, the same one from the bathroom, hidden inside and rolled her thumb over the smoothed tumbled surface.

“No.” his voice was flat as Ben gathered other herbs to mix in a small clay bowl, each a different tone of yellow and smelled of fresh nature, before adding two drops of honey. Piquing her interest, Rey leaned slightly close to read over his massive shoulder. The lettering was an opulent show of cursive, tight knitted together in feminine handwriting with a dried pale rose kept in the book's spine.

Ben let out a frustrated sigh as he squinted, and his forehead wrinkled in concentration.

“Add wet mixture to wound in circular motions for two minutes, then remove with water. Pat dry and place wrapping on top for overnight healing.” Rey guessed his location and sat back as he looked at her. Ben raised an eyebrow, his eyes trailing between her and the journal with confusion piercing his features.

“You know Greek?”

Rey furrowed her brows. It was an odd question for him to ask. She looked back at the lettering but didn’t see any Greek-styled letters—only specks of odd words and English tied with detailed instructions. She shook her head and Ben hummed. He didn’t voice what he thought and returned to the page before closing the book and washed his hands in the nearby sink.

When he finished, Ben turned to her with the towel in his hands.

“Do you want to apply it yourself?” He asked, and Rey shook her head. She should say yes and let him rest for the night, ask him to go to sleep and wish him a good night. The shadows under his eyes were telling under the kitchen lighting, half-lidded with exhaustion and lashes fanning with a false reality of alertness. Ben had already done so much for her, but she craved for him to stay close and feel his safety. It was selfish, yet Rey eased into the feeling of being cared for – hesitant and yearning, a fragile bubble growing.

Her fingers loosened the loop around her waist, turning her back towards him, and pulled the robe material down enough to expose her injury—ridges of golden blood staining the white cotton with goosebumps surrounding the area.

“The stinging will be minimum, but it’ll help with any infection and prevent scarring.” Ben explained, dropping the towel and returning to their shared space. He moved his hands with uncertainty, fumbling over the alcohol wipes to clean the blood gently before grabbing the mixing bowl. “If it’s too much, tell me.”

They fell into a pregnant silence as Ben worked the ointment into the skin, tenderly rubbing in circular motions. The homemade liniment didn’t ache, but assuaged the area in a heated balm and cooled—almost like an icy-hot patch, but with smoother results.

“How long have you had it?” she gestured to the leather-bound journal in front of her. The once shimmering words of gold were hard to understand. Letters were missing and rough lines of lighten grooves slashed over the original owner’s name. It was a single name starting with the letter  _ P _ , that much is understood. Rey felt intrigued to run her finger over the extensive imprints, turn every page with gentle care and learn its context, wondering what wisdom they could provide.

“A long time.” Ben muttered under his breath.

“Did you buy it, or has it been part of your family?”

He stopped applying the sticky lotion and there’s a faith clink of heated Earth touching granite. Rey feared she overstepped the line—her back immediately stiffening with anticipation, waiting for a harden blow, but it never came. A wet cloth touched her skin, pulling in slow tugs over the covered wound to remove the amber-colored substance. A shaky breath escaped her lungs, one she wasn’t sure Ben heard or ignored for her sake.

“Why are you asking so many questions? We never talked much at the club.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I don’t mind. It’s just we never spoke outside of small talk. I thought you hated me so if you don’t mind me asking… Why wouldn’t you speak to me, even inside the private room or when I called?” His tone had no sense of taunting menace as he worked—only a deep fathom of curiosity and vulnerability.

_ Because I never hated you, even from the first time we met. Because there were eyes everywhere, watching with a hand locked to their gun. Because Snoke wanted to hurt you for taking me away. Because it was easier to know you as the man who paid for my time than the man who wanted to help. Because it would kill me to see you hurt from my own mistakes than to see you leave me.  _ Rey pondered, but her lips thinned, shoulders shrugging with no words to combat them. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, before giving up a half-truth. “Just trying to know the man who helped me tonight.”

Her response wasn’t an answer to his question, but a tactic to ignore the investigation. Ben’s affiliation with the Empire couldn’t protect him from Snoke’s wrath and his thirst for blood. Giving him the sincerity of the club’s dealings and her own experiences under the old man’s glance would provoke Ben’s silent terror, one much grander than Snoke could conjure. No, it was easier to steer the conversation away from the living soul of Tartarus, where the world’s vilest beings came to play and fuck.

Ben momentarily paused, removing the last bit of honey before patting the skin dry. His arms grew tense, stiff to prevent trembling as he rummaged through the tin box of supplies. Rey didn’t have to look at him to know it pained his expression, anger hidden under God-like features and his lips soured.

“Family.” He countered; voice chided.

The response wasn’t enough for her. Rey needed to know more, at least one unknown fact about him.

“Your mother or…?”

“My wife.” Ben added quickly. The smallest of chuckles heaved past his lips among the swift silence of the kitchen.

The corners of her mouth etched profoundly. She gasped an airless  _ oh _ and the room surrounding them blurred. Her pocket instantly burned with the weight of the heart-shaped rose quartz buried inside and scorched through the fibers, marking her skin with a rough silhouette. The functioning organ in the middle of her chest catapulted with a heaviness that felt unfamiliar and dropped to the pit of her stomach, acid smoldering the biological structure keeping her body alive. It somersaulted and soared up to her throat, flattening her tongue from being able to say anything before the walloping curse of breaking glass chimed along the whistling noise bellowed in her ear. Silence drifted momentarily before exploding like a rocket launching into orbit all within the matter of a five seconds. Her nostrils no longer inhaled the aroma of herbs, but filled with filters of ash and gasoline. Her eyes rippled with dark tones of crimson shading her skin and fogged her moral compass. Her typically short nails grew into sharp claws, digging into her palm and drew blood, mimicking vines escaping her iron grip.

There wasn’t a single answer linked to the forging thoughts in her mind. The tan lines on his left hand made more sense now. The identical twins would have faded prior to their first meeting if he was a divorced man, even a recent one. Men like Benjamin Solo married for their status and allowed someone else to spend their millions. Of course, he’s married — so why is she so surprised?

The image of a strawberry blonde woman holding his arm simmered under her skin and burned on the forefront of her memories. Her eyes were bright blue, wide with experience and elegance. She has pale skin and lacked the scars and blemishes that peppered Rey’s layer of protection. The woman would be somewhere around Ben’s age, maybe a few years younger. She’d hold a multitude of specialties in the humanitarian field and recognized for her work across different charity boards. Ben’s  _ wife  _ was probably parading around Europe for the winter holidays, spending her husband’s money for a secret shopping addiction before deciding to return home—unaware the man she proclaimed vows to spend thousands of dollars on a lackluster stripper from an underground illegal drug club.

Rey was nothing more than an intruder in this woman’s home—a lost girl who earned pity from a grown married man, yet Ben acted coy around her, like his wedding vows weren’t an oath to God. His wife knew  _ nothing,  _ and Ben showed no proximity of shame or regret. Guilt shattered her false world of safety, a fragile little thing with its pieces laying on the floor like knives pointing at her.

_ I’ll kill her. _ Rey contemplated likely scenarios—a knife, black market guns, poison in her tea, or the slow constriction of thorny vines cradling her long neck. The details of violence and gore were among the whispers inside of the Empire club, breathing life to truth and fantasy between the walls as Snoke’s dog pack roared with victory from their latest adventure. In her wake, however, their petty acts of bloody  _ fun  _ would be nothing but child’s play.

All she needed to do was wait in the contours of the shadows and haunt the strawberry blonde bitch upon her return. The last thing she’d muttered would be a single name, while trapped inside her monstrous garden, before the pain of venom overwhelmed her bloodstream.

_ Persephone, the bringer of death. _

The sound of tape brought her back to the present reality—heart thumping at a regular pace and the smell of fresh herbs welcoming her senses. The smoky fog evaporated to display the sharp outlines of the kitchen. Her flesh that once hovered the shade of rubies slowly returned to her natural tan color as thoughts of impending murder and blood vanished. 

Blinking rapidly, Rey adjusted to the lighting of the kitchen—ignorant to Ben’s fingers gracing the tops of her skin to secure the gauze. She paid no attention to the goosebumps rising to overtake the surface of her skin. Her eyes focused on the characteristics of the kitchen—cabinets and drawers stained in a warm walnut color, cooking herbs hung in tester tubes hovering over the sink with spices and oils cluttering the oven. White shelves housed distinct sets of plates from plain glossy white to matted rose gold with golden accents, matching the single set of utensils on the drying mat of the sink. If she didn’t know Ben any better, the faucet was pure gold and glimmered, but the combination of the entire kitchen mingled between homey and 0.1% wealth.

“H-how long have you been married?” She questioned, grinding her teeth to avoid the gut wrecking emotion lingering in her heart. Rey could feel the ghost of Ben’s smile on her back—a taunting perception of his happiness with another woman while she studded in resentment and remorse.

“Seems like centuries.” He supplied. Ben finished bidding the thick gauze and brought the material of her robe back to its original place, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles. At least he had the dignity to speak the truth, though the offer of truth broke her heart and repaired it all the same.

Fury blinded her once again—racing notions of provoked murder and infidelity. What gave  _ him _ the right idea to get married, anyway?

Flaring her nostrils, Rey shifted her weight to jump off the kitchen island. Ben quickly placed his hands on her waist to assist, but she propelled his efforts and pushed his massive body away. The gesture was pointless on a man like Ben, who stared at her with chiseled brows and worry aligning his eyes.

“Is something wrong?” His strength allowed him to remain still, grasping her waist lightly with no issue while she sat on the island, scowling in anger. Rey growled at him and tried once again to push, but a bloody handprint on his t-shirt caught her attention — an additional element added to the tarnished clothing he still wore.

Ben followed her gaze. He wasn’t concerned with the stain on his shirt and let go of her hips. He took her hands into his and turned over the palms. In its wake, tied-dye veins of crimson dried on her skin, penetrated deep in the ceases of her palms and dripped over her wrists. His lips pressed into a thin lip before turning his attention back to the medical supplies.

There’s a ruffle of plastic being torn, and tools pushed aside. Rey didn’t observe his actions, feeling a small sting and the smell of alcohol. She kept her vision focused on the artwork framed beside the large window. The canvas matched the yellowed ivory pages of the leather-bound journal, small with delicate creases and smudged in patterns of Earth and berries. A bouquet of mesmerizing flowers twinkled under the moonlight and kitchen lighting—a show of crocus’, violets, iris and lilies with one golden rose in the middle; each sparkled in a different shade of midnight navy, purple, and silver, but the rose remained gold.

_ “My rose petal…”  _ an indistinct voice called to her—a voice sounding much like Ben’s rich velvety voice.

He peeled the bandage off its glossy counterpart and Ben flatten the area over the cuts on her palm, bringing each one to her palm and sealed it with a kiss.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” The words spilled out of her before she thought better of it.

“And what game is that?”

“Toying with a woman’s emotions.”

Ben grinned, displaying his teeth and deep dimples without a fault. He pressed another kiss to her hand and rolled his thumb over the injured skin. “The game started several centuries ago, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Summary:** Rey experiences a panic attack after looking at herself in the mirror and seeing the results of her assault from the alleyway. Ben tries to help her in the best way he can, but he’s unsuccessful. As she comes down from the panic attack, Rey sees an image of herself in the mirror — an image she believed to be a hallucination and she screamed, causing the Godly powers of Persephone to manifest within her as vines growing out of her body and the glass mirror breaking apart. Ben is unfazed by the outburst and stays around, as per Rey’s request, to help with removing the specks of nature off her body.
> 
> In the kitchen, Ben helps with cleaning her wounds and reveals to Rey he’s married after a few brief questions. This leads to Rey having momentary thoughts of wanting to murder his unnamed wife while dealing with the guilt of wanting to keep Ben to herself. Persephone momentarily appears in her thoughts before reality returns to Rey.


	7. tales of ludus and philla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwww shit, we got a Hades and Persephone flashback -- and it’s a long one!
> 
> Hi, hi, hello, I am alive! I hope everyone is doing well and look, we don’t have another gruesome chapter of super evil things happening!! Yay!! I’m on a roll, let’s hope it stays that way. No summary written for this chapter, since nothing of the norm happens (well... in a sense) and I want to keep things a surprise for you all.
> 
> I want to thank Hooda and Ek for beta’ing this chapter!! It sure needed the polishing, but ah!! Couldn’t have done it without you ladies. ❤️
> 
> I commissioned the amazing El for this beautiful art of a ~certain~ scene in this chapter. Please go follow her and consider her for your next piece! You won’t be disappointed! Artwork located here: twitter.
> 
> **Triggers**  
>   
>  Somewhat adultery (Hades & Persephone aren’t together, so does it really count?)  
> Man-handling of a female character during a fight

Although his eyes glinted with formulated sentences left to die on his tongue, Ben doesn’t insinuate further conversation. She wasn’t unfamiliar in the way he ticked, from the nervous twitching of his fingers to the variety of sighs signaling his tempers. His moods often leaned towards irritation and vexation, but in regards to others and never directly at her. Rey recognized that a grin sent to his left meant wickedness. Trouble was nearing and puncturing the surface, while to his right, deepening his adorable dimples, waved bloodshed with tints of merriment. 

Yet when Ben flashed a rare, wide toothy smile in her direction, an act that seemed reserved only for the likes of her, she registered her heart rate speeding past the limit. A hidden inclination to see him boyish and happy grew, something she thought was rare for someone like him. Rey understood how clearly actions spoke for this delicate giant, when words couldn’t express his truths. His little fumbling of awkward sentences made her smile, even in the tiniest of pursuits, in the darkest of rooms, or in the composure of hushed touches. 

She hated how well she knew him. 

She hated how well  _ he  _ knew  _ her _ .

They fell into a comfortable silence and joined the soft stillness of the city outside, where its inhabitants raced home after a late shift or rummaged through the dream scope. The elevator gears groaned as they moved up and opened to the master level. His hand found a home on her lower back during the short ride, a reassurance that she suddenly required, and he led them out of the small holding. 

A pout formed when he pulled away. The visible shuddering of his fingers stiffened to stay close, causing Ben to misstep and his frustration blooming on his eyebrows, but Rey bit the inside of her cheeks to avoid laughter and sorrow for his touch. She isolated protests from passing her lips and fell into contentment by his side, both slowing their pace to brisk in the quiet.

Silted panels of starry beams crept in from the curtain breaks and illuminated the darkened hallways, like a quiet walk through the looping pavements of Central Park under a full moon. Rey averted her eyes from looking in his direction, listening to the padding of her bare feet echoing slightly as the heated flooring shifted from tile to hardwood. His arm brushed against her shoulder and bathed her in goosebumps, but they pressed on without another word, muted until their destination was near.

Her time in the brownstone had been short, about three hours, but the difference between the ground and top levels were contrasting. While the kitchen glowed with strokes of hominess and intended personalization, the hallway leading to the master bedroom was devoid of artwork and portraits. Rey schooled her features to neutrality to hide exasperation harboring at the skin level. She needed one glimpse of the woman married to Ben—the strawberry blonde she forged in her mind or someone utterly different. 

Although, it would still break her heart.

The thought of Ben being a married man was the furthest thing from her mind. The guilt, however, crippled her internally. Her thoughts supplied that it was for the sake of accepting his earlier statement. Benjamin Solo is a  _ married  _ man, and he was simply helping a girl who had no one in this cruel world. Yet the stubborn heart in her chest did not welcome those logical notions and offered its own rebuttal. 

Rey didn’t know much about fortunate marriages or what it takes to uphold their divine promises under the eyes of God and his disciples. But a man in love is a man who douses his wife under showers of love and heartfelt actions—at least, that was what she had seen during her strides in New York or the brief clips of romantic movies on the display windows. 

So, if Ben was a happily married man, smiling at the vague mention of his wife, then why didn’t he wear his wedding ring with pride? The adoration for he held for his wife was proud on his lips, engulfing his eyes to widen with doting fondness. But the walls were naked without their love story hung up for all to see. 

Rey didn’t understand why her heart broke at that thought.

The Empire was reserved for foul men dumping their money to the women who sold their bodies, cried over their failed marriages, and pulled a line of white to spice up the night surrounded by the ‘boys’. Ben, however, bore none of the typical characteristics of the Wall Street men who hindered the relationship between their financial assets and spoiled sugar babies. Each night, he would stroll into the club, chest puffed and ready for a battle with Snoke. He’d drop unfamiliar names—Kylo Ren and Vader—just to petrify the old man, even for a short amount of time, while hoping to keep him on a leash and away from her. 

The question endured; what type of man joyfully walked into a revolting location like the Empire and paid for the time of a dull stripper while he was in love with his wife? Nothing added up in her mind.

Her eyes sparkled with a query over this mystery woman and Ben’s own past, wishing to dig deep into his inner workings, but he was adamant on letting her mull over these thoughts with no urgency to ease the bubbling worries. The fact of this proclaimed marriage and family connection layered hazily in the air, thick with tension and no holes to make large to dig for the veracity. His determination to ignore the truth was palpable, yet Rey sensed the need to set aside those ideas and ignore the tingling affinity rooted in her soul.

The feeling boiling in her chest was strange—a prickly sensation of cohesion and familiarity, one that she couldn’t comprehend. Rey had felt this several times before around his presence, like when he secured an arm over her shoulders and tucked her into a nook of safety. One glance in his line of vision and she understood everything—from his next set of words to the pacing of his heart. 

Is it possible to know everything about someone, and yet nothing at all?

She tried to keep the dense comments to herself, her teeth nibbling on her bottom lip. Her attention turned to the exposed white brick that wrapped the corridor in modern realism. The vintage informality with pockets of darkness housing patches of weed flowers flecked in swarms of yellow and purple. The night made them appear gloomy and hunched from the weight, lacking their usual flare for life and sunlight. Under her glance, the stem straightened and radiated dewy silver-like droplets—stretching its roots to bury in new holes and spout more of its kind. Weed flowers had an entire market dedicated to destroying their unique properties. Many considered them a nuisance plant, growing new life in unwanted areas, and most definitely did not belong inside of a home.

Rey had a frightening thought—what if she caused this unwelcomed grass burdening in the foundation of his home?

“You’re welcome to wear anything you’d like.” Ben declared before she sent herself into a downward spiral of mixed anxiety and fulfilment. 

The double doors leading into the bedroom were large and they opened with a welcoming flicker of overnight lights laced in soft hues of yellow to calm tired eyes. The corners brightened and cast vast shadows of furniture across the room, draping everything in a falsehood of hostility, despite the soft aesthetic. The blurry lines of furniture mended out of his way as ghoulish frowns appeared in gray before returning to their original shape and damped woes reverberated off the brick, abandoning small whispers in her ears.

His concentration left her to tiptoe the threshold with uncertainty and required bandaged hands to fiddle with the inside of her pockets—adhesive cotton rolling over a tumbled stone of pink. His words were an extended invitation to step inside, without injury or falsification, to locate something suitable to wear for the night—a gesture in simplicity compared to all his other actions. But walking inside would mean receiving answers to her endless questions, a streamline of possibilities that perhaps she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. A mere second ago, Rey wanted to know everything about his wife, but now, putting a face and name to her would mean facing the reality of leaving him and his kindness—the thought of which crushed her more than she realized.

“Rey?” The metallic taste of iron flooded her mouth when Ben called out. 

A married man or not, Rey trusted only him. 

Her eyes found his amber irises honeycombed with crimson veins on the outer rims, calculating in coldness as profound wrinkles formed tattered lines on his forehead and washed away much of his youth. His hand gripped the closet knob tightly and his knuckles whitened, waiting on bated breath. Ben didn’t provoke or ask questions. He waited for her to grow comfortable with the situation and to understand the reality of these consequences formed by others and forcefully placed upon her being. 

Rey took the tentative step forward, keepingher eyes pinpointed on Ben. His feet rooted themselves to the ground, rocking slightly to avoid the itch to advance towards her. But like magnets drawn to each other, they met half-way with a questionable impulse to stay close, spreading throughout the air. One that should make her worry but didn’t.

His arm found its home on her shoulder, pulling Rey close to his side, and the lump in her throat lessened with his coat of security. Her eyes never strived from his, enamored with the ignited ring of gold housing his pupils. His skin bore minor fractures of cut flesh—a history of battle scars—but none as prominent as the healed scar running from the tops of his right eyebrow and down the center of his cheek. Rey traced the line where it disappeared under the cover of his V-neck shirt, pressing against the chest muscle above his heart with a mild touch.

The tender deed helped to minimize the urge to crane her head and search the forbidden room for clues to the identity of this woman because there  _ must  _ be something here.

One earlier glance told her this room was vacant of regular residents—a thin layer of dust called the empty nightside tables home, and matching overhead lamps mounted on a brick wall with a cone of soft yellow beaming on the stained oak. The bed sheets were new and unused, with a glossy price tag affixing a high dollar amount. House spiders blended with the shade of night as they spun webs of cotton sparkled in threads of dashing silver.

In her peripheral vision, the emitted shadows of the ceiling twisted to form the tight structure of unrelated silhouettes—six men daunting matted masks and battle gear with fabrics of white and black draped over their chest with a woven ribbon of pink on their shoulders, each holding ancient spears rattled from time and modern weaponry hoisted on their waist.. Despite their looming appearance, Rey did not fear these unnamed profiles or the weapons they carried. 

The birthed shadows waited at attention, seeking orders from a ruler, but Rey couldn’t turn her attention away from Ben. Her arms looped loosely around his waist, skin burning at his touch as her body became suspended—weightlessness without the confinement of gravity until she was at his height exactly, eyes meeting on an equal field of longing, and her hands draping over his shoulders. 

His eyes drew Rey to view the merging profiles of two regal individuals dressed in commoner clothing. A bursting cornucopia of warmth bathed her face in sunlight as waves of gloom and murk flushed away the present term of reality and she’s awakened in a fuzzy recollection of memories.

_ The rays of Apollo’s chariot beacon’d her skin with shrouds of warmth, and Kore sighed in fondness. Her toes wiggled in the wet dirt from the recent blessings of rain that the mighty lord Zeus gave upon Gaia. With a small smile, she turned toward the gentle breeze, cooling the sweat on her lower brow. It invited the young goddess to take a tentative break among the woodland creatures who called her gardens their home. _

_ Exhaling her worries, Kore cushioned herself under the shade of a lone willow tree nestling on top of a hill overlooking the vast territory. Her assorted hues of gold and green took the familiar view of unique oak, cypress and laurel trees shattered around. Their cast leaves swayed with the wind and joined the released grains of wheat as the trees stood tall against a backdrop of sunflower fields. Overhead, the colorful birds chirped their lovely songs as they flew in search of the perfect twigs for their nest which protected the younglings. On the ground, animals graced the blades of grass in peaceful serenity as they shared a watering hole with friends and predators alike.  _

_ Her shoulders relaxed on the inhale count of six as she leaned back, allowing the willow tree to support her weight. The fresh aroma of nature and the blooming flower buds pricked her nostrils in nostalgic scents as the playful air ruffled her hair and spiraling shades of pale rose petals flew in line with the invisible string of the God Aeolus. Beneath her, the nurtured plants pulsed with the veins of life as it coursed through the ground and rose into her essence, falling into a constant cycle of beauty and life.  _

_ It was a rare occurrence when Demeter allowed her daughter to leave their village unsupervised without the trailing presence of employed nymphs, all of whom feared her mother’s wrath. Kore took these infrequent gestures as her mother’s growing trust to roam the mortal world and tend to her isolated gardens—where no God or Human could enter without the strict permission from Kore. _

_ Her sanctuary garden was the only place her mother had no jurisdiction over. Kore, however, believed Demeter could easily enter her gardens with the flick of a limp wrist. _

_ Her shoulders became rigid with anxious nerves and her once-proud smile turned. Demeter will expect her home as the sun begins its descent from the southwest. The long list of awaiting responsibilities flooded her mind—tend to the preserved grains, wash the fresh fruit, study her lessons with the nymphs, grow the poppies along the northeast rather than the northwest.  _

_ She shook her head before exhaustion seized her attention and allowed for tranquility to invade her youthful bones. Kore could not give up this beautiful summer day just yet, and certainty not to the thoughts of her mother’s list of expectations—unrealistic for even the oldest of Gods, or Titans.  _

_ Bracing her head back against the tree, Kore traced her fingertips over the green grass and closed her eyes. She searched for the patches of roses thriving in the center of her gardens. The roses had recently blossomed in alluring shades of a deep, deep red and an illusory grey—like the tint of mortal blood dripping over skin and the pale rotting flesh of the recently deceased. If Demeter knew about the experimentation of color, her mother would disapprove and swiftly change them with Kore’s protests dying on her tongue. The goddess of agriculture would cite that ‘all flowers must be birthed in the dyes of spring and summer to bring joy to all earthlings during their time among the living.’ _

_ Her mother has respired the same words for ages. So many times, before that, Kore could recite them and her mannerisms with ease—a pointed finger and one syllable led to a world of boredom in the goddess. Kore couldn’t help the array of eye rolls she’d sent her mother’s way, which ended with another lecture from Demeter on respecting her elders and making do with the minions of  _ her  _ cult, as if she truly cared for her gathering of believers. _

_ From the young goddess, there was little to no love for her mother’s followers. They depicted Kore in the light of an innocent maiden goddess, painted as a young girl holding a sheaf of grain and clutching her mother’s hands in the vases dedicated to Demeter. In the temples, farmers and virgins prayed for the maiden to follow the chosen path of chastity and symbolize the harmonious relationship between parent and child. They overlook her own specialties of power and remain blinded to the culling aura of her mother, never asking what the young goddess wanted out of this immortal life.  _

_ Kore existed only to be overshadowed by the capabilities of her mother, forgotten like a small child left in the corner during a rough punishment and never allowed to experience the full potential of her talents. Yet the concepts of death and darkness fascinated the lone springtime goddess who hadn’t taken her vows of chastity. Unknowingly to her mother’s followers, the effort to remain celibate was futile with her recent explorations, but these were secrets kept hidden in the depths of her lonely, love-seeking heart.  _

_ Despite her namesake, Kore was no longer a maiden Goddess. So why act like one in the comfort of her garden, when she already pretends around her mother? _

_ A tiny gasp escaped her lips as the wandering thoughts of imprisonment and luring freedom paused. Her back turned stiff, and she slammed her palm into the dirt; the familiar thudding of oozing life plummeted at a steady, rapid pace. In droves, the life-giving energy of her plants cried for their protector before flatlining in their cribs and their souls were lost to the Underworld—the true location of her interests.  _

_ Her garden welcomed a stranger of death to casually strove among her work. With each lumbering step, another cut of turf was lost.  _

_ The energy of this demise inundated her works of nature and continued the cycle of creation and entered her being. The flickering images of haunted lost ghouls pacing a field of emptiness burned into her skull as three golden masks infected judgement upon the sin of men. A castle of obsidian stood guard in the depths of darkness with a river of blood and empty dreams offering a spine-chilling sense of death. The body of three dogs morphed into one, and its bark caused the ground to tremble as they raced to the call of a whistle. The pleasure of skin-on-skin contact rose goosebumps on her arms, the type only found in the realms of sex and sin.  _

_ The dress of pastel silk and silver linen burned away with small flames of purple, but didn’t char her tanned skin. A shade of majestic blue clothing covered her body with a sheer vile of stars dancing on her forearms. Her hair grew in length, wrapping around the willow tree with a rope of thick chestnut as the wreath of humble cherry laurel leaves and golden narcissus flowers on the center of hard fashioned into a heavy tiara of gems. _

_ Kore gasped as her arms turned slowly to watch the stars whirl with kaleidoscopes of beams sparkling under the sun’s rays. Her mouth opened in disbelief, and with a pounding heart, she raced to the river to look upon her appearance in the clear water.  _

_ The goddess many called innocent was no longer in the swirling circles of water. Her eyes were no longer the diverse specters of gold and green to show the being of spring. Those colors faded and merged with the core to turn black with cracked lines of scarlet and a ring of gold to illuminate her doe-eyes. A headpiece of smoking quartz wrapped her forehead in an array of sparkling colors, but suddenly busted into a cloud of yellow stars hovering over her head. _

_ With a hard gulp, Kore looked out into her gardens. The breathtaking scenery of her private estate no longer seemed as important as it once did. It still bore the representation of never-ending life along with the originality of the goddess of spring, but something about these picturesque, lush flowers spelled a wrong portrayal of life—for humans and Gods. _

_ She sat on her heels, dazed, but the unrevealed poltergeist continued to wreak havoc among her incarnations of nature. It was her duty to protect all forms of creation—no matter how captivating this new image of Kore may be, or how tempting it was to fall under this spell. Yet, staring at this manifestation, she knew her name was no longer Kore, the young maiden. Her name was something far ancient and it stirred in her chest… A name so alarming and forgotten; it had been hidden from the minds of humans and Gods alike.  _

_ Kore peeled away from the image and raced across the fields as another bustle of grass crumbled to death.  _

_ Her body leaped on tops of the tree branches and manipulated their limbs apart to avoid her freshly long hair getting caught. They pushed her forward and helped get her to the center of the garden; her feet landing on nearby saplings as she wheeled through the plains of wheat and flowers. Her dress of heavenly body scorched into her original outfit of light-tones, threads slapping on her calves as she ran, and Kore tried not to mourn the lost beauty as she approached the location of the intruder.  _

_ Hiding in the shadows of the evergreens, the radiating force of chaos throbbed throughout the grounds. No God could compare to this power, not even the will of her mother or that of Lord Zeus. Her heart thrashed with exhilaration, curiosity prickling in the forefront of her mind, but fear almost stopped her from pursuing any further.  _

_ If this marrow of evil vigor can be felt from a distance, who was she to fight against it? Flowers couldn’t stop this madness. _

_ Having no time for second thoughts or doubting her abilities, Kore reached the centerfold of the gardens. The zone wasn’t as magnificent as the arches she had planted with her bare hands around the surrounding areas, but it was the location of her birth—where directly in the middle of the ground remained a circular patch of brown dirt as evidence of her heritage. The newly blossoming roses grew around it with their fuzzy petals, welcoming the warmth of the sky. It was the confinement of her power, where a single seed of pink rose and the tears of a lonely woman grew a thick stem, and later, Kore blossomed as a mere baby with stripes of Earth marked on her skin.  _

_ The thick trees cloaked the sacred region with sigils of protection, acting like a maze to lure away anyone who neared, yet this stranger waltzed right in without any issue.  _

_ Springing to the closest tree, Kore masked herself with the abundance of leaves and merged with the wood bark, allowing thin twigs to hold up her long hair. The branch she stood on extended outward so she could get a better look at the strolling individual.  _

_ The idiot hadn’t noticed he stumbled upon the garden of a goddess. _

_ Her small hands opened a tiny crack in the greenery. Chipped leaves rushed their pursuit to the ground, joining their fallen brothers, but the man was unaware of the change in nature. Giving the way he ambled along, he was unaffected and calm. _

_ Kore didn’t like him. _

_ From afar, this man didn’t appear as much of a threat. The power he exuded, however, continued to vibrate into the depths of Gaia and it was intoxicating.  _

_ Desperate locks of black hair fanned over his amber eyes, as if waiting for skilled hands to braid through the lush puff. She was enamored with the way his large, inked hand pushed the curls of his black hair back as he turned side-to-side, searching for a particular something, but found nothing in his line of vision. A broken consolation was revealed from his action, showing off splattered asteroids peppering his unusually pale skin in spots of black that blended to brown with the sunlight. His nose pointed in an awkward angle, but framed his face handsomely in a way that Kore hadn’t yet laid witness, not even from her mother’s temple goers.  _

_ On average, Kore was taller than the giggling spirits of nature, both the flower and water nymph she called friends. Looking at this man, however, Kore understood how easily he can tower over her and possibly overpower her strength—her abilities as the goddess of springtime would be no match to the alarming aura of wickedness sculpting his imposing frame. The material of his black tunic held little to no imagination for his broad and muscular chest. The intents of battle scars glowed under the rays of Apollo’s chariot and outlined a thin carving of silver on a body of pale.  _

_ This stranger walked with his head held high, like a king would while walking through the glinted corridors of his palace, but he moved with the dedicated manner of a skilled, and lonely, warrior who won his kingdom and lost all sense of glory for his victory.  _

_ He was unaware of the rows of execution following behind him and remained ignorant to the microscopic souls he sent to rot in the kingdom of Hell—as if the company of death welcomed him with open arms. Her birthed plants cried for their salvation by whispering her name with the last breath of each withering lead, but Kore was too engrossed with this man to act upon her instincts just yet.  _

_ Kore tilted her head in wonder as irritation vibrated off his chest and expanded his ransom of strength, murdering a larger circle of grass and lone wildflowers. He stopped his mindless progress in the garden and released a low growl, licking the depths of her being. She pressed her thighs together and clutched around nothing, feeling anguished and empty. _

_ That was new. _

_ The sound of an involuntary whimper died in her throat as he inched closer to the dark ruby and grey roses. They slowly decayed with his descent as he bowed to smell the fragrant stem, but Kore fashioned a dagger of ripped bark, blessing the wood to strike true, and sprung from her hiding spot. His fingers nearly adorned the velvety petals of her flowers and she delivered a hellish scream which startled the man.  _

_ With a heavy thump of flesh and hair, Kore landed in front of him and he took a step back. His features spelled astonishment with wide eyes, but she saw his massive hands moving to grab a miniature bident hanging from the belt of his tunic with glinting shades of purple and blue.  _

_ With the grace of his fingers, the weapon grew and expanded to a full-sized bident. The pole was a two-pronged implement, colored jet black with gilded flakes of crimson cracking at the top. He swung the resembled pitchfork underneath her feet, but Kore was much, much quicker.  _

_ Everything happened in a matter of seconds—Kore jumped, kicking the bident out of his reach, and slashed his face in a quick motion with the wooden dagger. Her blade ripped the tunic material and his chest bled, staining his clothing to a deeper shade than black. As he stumbled back, Kore flicked a tree root to lift from the ground and it compromised his sense of balance, forcing him to fall on the barren ground. With a shriek, his head clashed against the dirt and Kore stood over him, pointing the blade directly on his chest.  _

_ It was only then Kore realized the golden blood of the Gods dripped from the make-shifted knife. But her anger roared from within. She didn’t care if he was one of the twelve Olympians or a minor deity like herself. _

_ No one trailed into her gardens willingly.  _

_ Ignorant of his divine heritage, Kore kept her composure with her chin pointed and on guard for any sudden movements. The man snarled in her direction, lifting his head up with his single uninjured eye focused on her—an eye smoldered with a ring of gold creasing in the pit of black and crooked lines of crimson fueling his vision. They mirrored her eyes from the river, but she didn’t let that thought faze her. _

_ He tried to stand, then rushed to attack, but the timber blade housing his blood pierced his chest, threatening to add another scar to his body. The man stilled, cocking his visible brow high. The blow wouldn’t kill him, but Kore would make sure it hurt. _

_ The cords of rich Ichor spilled from the contours of his thick fingers and coated his hand in gold. Neither spoke, and neither were willing to start speaking while they breathed the same air. In her ears, the subtle pacing of two heartbeats slowed and merged until there was a single beat coursing through the ground. Kore didn’t reach to touch her chest, but her eyes followed as the stranger did, uncertainty growing in his eyes.  _

_ He was an intruder in her small world of peace, yet he stared as if she was something important to study and make a note of. Kore couldn’t let one set of pretty eyes smooth her away, not even his—he would pay for the destruction he caused on her grounds.  _

_ Slowly, his hand returned to the dead ground and his fingers curled slowly into the brown dirt . Her roses waned to a ghostly grey before they stained to mimic a black grime and turned into infertile Earth. Only a dome of golden light protected her place of birth and cast off his spell of death. _

_ “Stop that!” She cried. Her eyes averted his momentarily, but that was her mistake. _

_ Turning up, the stranger smirked and his body disappeared into the depths of the shadows underneath as the sun set. Kore nearly fell over, but a sudden arm wrapped around her waist. A tight grasp of thick fingers knocked her blade from her fist and folded her arm against her back, while her free arm was pinned to the side. She tried to fight the firm chest behind, kicking her legs and straining, but the hand that landed her neck was warm and slightly squeezed the column to limit her airways. _

_ “Do you always treat lost guests with feral energy, sweetheart? Or do I happen to be a lucky exception?” His voice tickled her ear and sent a wave of arousal to her core, his blood spilling droplets on her shoulder. She shouldn’t be getting turned on by this murderous snake, who destroyed her gardens and has not even acknowledged his wrongdoings. _

_ Kore laughed at his arrogance, baring her teeth, and used the tight grip he held on her arm to roll over his shoulders, spinning over him and landed behind him on her two feet. Her abundance of hair blocked his view, and the maneuver added pressure to send the large man hurtling to the ground again.  _

_ Flickering her waist and drawing a tight fist in her hands, overgrown vines encased around his body. He tried to fight it with a blaze of fire, touching the rope of nature, and killed a few, but Kore persisted and concentrated on weaving layers of thin and thick vines to swaddle the God until it overpowered him. Even with his power of death and decay, her imprisonment prevented him from escaping and influenced the green cocoon to hang him upside down. It earned Kore another deep growl, and she ignored the heat in her belly, focusing on his waving locks of hair that appeared like black flames with the ends smoking of pale irritation.  _

_ The vines lifted and groaned as they brought the God to her eye level. His eyes spelled of murder and sin, mingled with a ring of astonishment, while hers called for justice, retaliation, and an unnamed activity of lush. _

_ Kore faked a sweet smile, but her tone was full of pain. “You get the welcome package for causing wreckage in my gardens.” _

_ “I have done no such thing,” the man argued, snorting at her accusation.  _

_ Her hands vibrated with the need to strike the stupid, handsome god across the face. Instead, Kore stepped away, pushing her overly grown hair to the side. She gestured to the surrounding ground—rotten as it could no longer birth plants to nurture Gaia or provide beauty for Kore and for Kore alone. The Earth turned black under his footsteps with the crumbled petals of decay and the small patches of surviving environment steered away from the injected poison. _

_ His damage will take her years to undo—no, eons. _

_ The god audibly sighed. His amber eyes took a long drink of her stand and Kore ignored the sudden flare of heat stroking her belly when they locked sight of each other. Nervously, she placed her hands at the waist and waited, schooling her features of annoyance to match the tap-dancing of her foot on dry dirt.  _

_ When he broke their gaze, Kore disregarded the ache in her chest and focused as his head turned side-to-side. His expression remained impassive. The vines gripping his shoulders movedas, Kore assumed, he shrugged from the inside of his prison. _

_ “It’s a regular day,” he commented. Poison ivy burst from her hair in thin layers. _

_ A surge of blood rushed to the apples of her cheeks and painted them a deep shade of crimson. The same cloud of black ink from earlier fogged her vision as her body trembled with anger, suspending Kore a few inches off the ground. The strands of poison ivy tangled with the fibers of her chestnut hair to create inelegant braids, and floated in loops before transforming into wilted rose petals in crumbled shades of black, indigo and purple.  _

_ “Just a regular day…” Her voice was low, angered, and threatening. But the god remained unfazed from his actions, unapologetic, and pretended to sniffle a yawn to show his boredom over the situation. _

_ “Sweetheart, it’s only nature. It will grow back, or if you’re impatient, go get Demeter.” _

_ Her vision wrenched into a dwindling red. Her nails morphed into sharp talons, inching to rip his neck and watch the blood drip from her hands. Hovering off the ground, Kore felt the tiny specks of pebbles rumbling from underneath the soil at a violence pace. One by one, they broke from their dark penitentiary and covered the dead grass in oval shapes of cobblestone talks. Among the stones, spots of diamonds and rubies peppered the surface in odd numbers until an overwhelming amount of metal formed a small hill. _

_ Kore shrieked and lunged at him, before shooting up into the sky until the tops of the tree came into her line of scarlet vision. His encloser of green turned up right and Kore grabbed him by the sole patch of visible black and pulled him close until they were nose-to-nose. _

_ “How dare you step into my gardens and act so smug about killing my plants!” Her claws dug through the veins and punctured his skin, loving the sound of his hiss so close. It was electric to feel the texture of his essence on her hands, but it maddened Kore over the loss of her secret home. “How dare you insult my hard work, my birthplace and home, by calling it a regular day!” _

_ The god raised his eyebrow in response, tilting his head as curiosity replaced the black spot in the center of his eyes and the frame of whiskey returned—tenderness and interest shifting the gears in his head. _

_ After a pregnant pause, he sincerely questioned, “You do not know who I am, do you?” _

_ “Of course, I do!” Kore answered too quickly, even for her liking. She released him from her hard grasp while he hummed. His lips pressed into a thin line before nodding slightly. Moments later, the god grinned and showcased his stupidly handsome dimples—Kore should  _ not  _ think he’s a catch, not at the time of his sentencing. _

_ “No, you don’t, petals,” he answered like it solved everything. _

_ Her nose scrunched, and she scoffed, crossing her arms and ignoring the droplets of gold staining her dress. Her long, sharp nails slowly returned to their original shape, but his blood remained, drying and burning. _

_ “Do you have a death wish or shall you house the soil of my flowers and become fertilizer?” _

_ Like Death waiting for a meal. His lips grinned, and a chuckle roared from his broad chest. _

_ “What’s my name, petals?” The god dared to question her authority while he lingered in his tightly wrapped imprisonment. He hung in the air, several feet high above the ground with multiplying vines to replace the ones he had murdered, but the god didn’t care. _

_ All he wanted to do was provoke her. _

_ And it was working. _

_ “Your name is Ben, the god of murdering plants and disrespecting goddesses.” She panicked, knocking her hip to the side, and fixated on a permanent grimace. Kore knew it was a false hope of confidence that there was such a god, but Kore had no true inkling of  _ who  _ or  _ what  _ god he was. _

_ By the hand of her mother, Demeter limited Kore’s knowledge of the Olympians. She knew the maiden goddesses by heart and selected Gods who did business with her mother—Zeus, Hermes, Apollo, Hecate, and Artemis; two of which had surprisingly become friends of Kore.  _

_ But this God, this God of chaos, murder and order… Kore was at a loss. _

_ Much to her surprise, the unknown god didn’t find her response insulting. In fact, he seemed relieved of being unnamed by his divinity.  _

_ A crude reverberating sound erupted from the back of his throat, something unused and new, and it took Kore a moment to realize he was laughing. He wasn’t laughing at her, no, he didn’t seem the type, but  _ with _ her. If it wasn’t for his thorny prison, Kore would see his chest heave and belly ache. The gesture, however, made his dimples deepen as the crinkle of his eyes enhanced his youthful features. Kore felt a flourishing whoosh in her chest. Her anger vanished, shoulders slouching and the red of her eyes fading, and was replaced with eagerness, but more interest than most. _

_ “If my name is Ben, and I am the god of murdering nature and mocking feral goddesses, then yours must be Rey—goddess of sunlight, to brighten my dark days and create confinements of ivy, sweetheart.” The god winked and heat overwhelmed her cheeks, chasing the slope of her neck and into the crevices of her shoulders. _

_ Was… was he flirting? _

_ “Petals, try again.” He saved her the embarrassment of responding, using his honey-licked voice to smooth her mistake. It was sweet, much sweeter than anything she had physically tasted before, including the nectar of sin. _

_ This was an entirely different form of scandal in the flesh. _

_ Kore hesitantly levitated close until they were, once again, nose-to-nose. He didn’t protest the invasion of personal space or showed the raw power flaring from his skin. The god seemed to embrace the subtle touch—as if he starved for compassion and wanted more, something she understood all too well.  _

_ Unlike the rumors she’s heard of other gods, he didn’t force his way for more than what Kore gave. He didn’t break from his prison and drag her away into the shadows. The god waited, cocooned in his temporary home, and stared into her eyes as if she was the subject of study and intrigue.  _

_ Kore narrowed her specters of green and gold, gazing into his matched set of gold and crimson. The energy of fiery demise, riches, and manipulation rolled off the god and layered him like a second skin—feeding her into a lucid state of insobriety and seduction. His strength was ancient, something far older and much wiser than that of her mother, or even Zeus, but Kore did not dare to make this claim out loud.  _

_ Even as a goddess, such words would mean a lightning bolt sent straight in her direction. _

_ Kore had heard the whispering tales from the fragile mortals visiting Demeter’s temple; rumors about a vengeful god so lonely in his kingdom he’d rip their souls to fill the population of the underground. Despite her curiosity, they never dared to mumble his name, for he was too cunning and too ruthless, with no bone of mercy in his celestial body and he damned those who spoke ill of him. They were too afraid to invoke his presence, too scared to say goodbye to the living and warmth of the plentiful Gaia. These mortals worried for their cold afterlife, frightened of spending eternity in a bleak, empty, and dark underworld. These same mortals, who prayed to her mother and expressed gratitude for an abundance harvest, asked for protection from the clawing shadows, to steer away from the wrath of this god,his cursed riches, and wicked smile. _

_ But no one spoke about how enticing his smile was—pouty and willing—and Kore couldn’t help to drop her attention to his plush lips, which sat faintly open, like they were waiting to be traced by her fingertips. There was a crepuscular pull emulating from this god, as if red silk twine secured her limbs and connected Kore to his chest, drawing her in slowly toward this sunless yet welcoming inclination of something new. _

_ Her fingers fisted around the material of her dress, twitching to touch the faint stubble of his jawline. She released the tight grasp with hesitation, dragging her eyes between his lips, waiting to be kissed at her digression, and his puzzling hues.  _

_ In slow agony, Kore gave into this unusual temptation and extended her hand out—a zapping bolt of electricity coursed through the tips of her fingers when she adorned his skin. They collectively gasped with the physical contact, but she didn’t pull away and he didn’t demand to be released. He welcomed the touch, leaning into her warmth without looking away.  _

_ It was new; it was chronic, and it absorbed Kore in this sensitivity. Her thumb wiped the remnants of dried ichor staining his pale cheek, matching the same injury on her hand, and revealed a healing scar running from the tops of his eyebrow and disappeared down his neck and chest. With a drop of nearby nectar, the mark would be gone forever, but somehow, Kore didn’t want him to leave without it.  _

_ From the visible scrap of black tunic, she could see the grey designs immersed with images of harrowing souls, their eyes white with no life and mouths hung open in a dull fashion. It fascinated her with the way they influenced the garment, swaying to depict violent scenes of war, famine, and corruption. Most of all, the ghostly limbs of these embodiments conveyed another image—one of a queen sitting on a silver throne, horned roses edging the seat in a beautiful display of sophistication and vindictive power. Her smile matched the iniquity of her male counterpart, basking in this untamed talent; for the mortals learned to fear her more than the actual God of the Dead.  _

_ The bodies of three females overhauled the ashen image, crackling loudly with golden string wrapped in their boney fingers. A single eye blinked and stared at Kore, their interest growing even through the fabric of his clothing. _

_ “Persephone…” the sisters whispered, “Our Queen is near…” _

_ “The bringer of death…” Kore mumbled. _

_ And this, this was not something that the goddess of spring should find captivating. _

_ Realization soaked her bones in icy water. A deep shiver raced down the bumps of her spine and suddenly, Kore realized who was wrapped in her vines. _

_ “You are Hades, God of the Underworld—the unseen God.” Her voice was peppered in dread, thumb still hot on his cold skin, but Kore couldn’t bear to move away. The ground beneath them trembled, venerating for the god who controlled the hidden treasures underground, but her creeping plants remained still and kept Hades locked in his prison. She was stuck, lingering between the light and dark, and she wanted to be swallowed whole by the latter.  _

_ The goddess of spring knew she should escape, turn her back on Hades, and never utter a word of this to anyone. Kore had heard the warnings from mortals and the coded phrases from her mother—fear death, for it is a foe and not a friend. Death knows no lover, for it snuffs out the light of all joy. _

_ Hades merely nodded with her recognition and offered no other explanation. His crooked nose, however, nuzzled affectingly against hers with their lips hovering close—the brim of their lips barely touching, and Kore drew back in fright with a gasp, afraid of what an actual kiss might entail between them.  _

_ Yet, even with their distance, Kore found herself willing to fall into a pit of unknown—surrounded by a mingling twist of familiarity and freedom. She regretted not joining their lips. _

_ The hurt in his eyes was noticeable, dimmed of its bright honey and heightened with crimson, veiled in resentment as they transformed into spheres of ink. Before she could make a note of his physical change, Hades quickly concealed his features and returned to his known image of a heartless, unlikable god—a hard lump swallowed and his lips thinned. His head held high, dripping of regal status. _

_ It was an awfully warm summer day, but the temperature plummeted, and a frosty chill set in her bones.  _

_ Gloomy rays of demised exuded through the cracks of his prison, and more of her plants crumbled to their death until it stripped him of greenery and an aura of tragic viciousness staggered off of Hades. The god hovered in his place, brushing the grey dust of nature off his rippled shoulders and never faltered his eyes from hers, silently longing for her touch.  _

_ Kore was unfazed by his display of royalty and liveliness. She did not mourn the loss of her flora and allowed the brisk stir of his power to roll off on her skin, bestrewing her with rows of bumps and an aroused heart, as well as her core.  _

_ The climate may have lost its heat, but near him, the air was scorching, and she wanted more. Hidden underneath Hades’ armor of black , the god of death had his fair share of golden breaks—loneliness, aggravation, and wounds; all sentiments connected to her essence.  _

_ “Do I scare you, petals?” The glint of his eyes darkened to an even fouler shade of twilight.  _

_ “You are hardly the god to fear,” she huffed and shrugged her shoulders. “For shame, I heard repulsive tales of the fearsome God of the Underworld from mortals unwilling to even mutter the name, and I am met with… this.” Her hand gestured a lazy wave towards him, and she ignored the state of surprise crossing on his handsome features. Kore behaved as if the magnetic pull between them wasn’t real and disregarded her own heart falling into fragments. Her own body yearned to be near Hades and explore this new connection, wanting to dig deeper to understand what she witnessed in his tunic, but fear for the unknown kept Kore at a distance. _

_ As if he could no longer deny himself, Hades veered closer with an outreached hand and unspoken words on his lips. But she shifted from his grasp, hesitant of his actions. His brooding body stayed in place, but his hand remained suspended between the two—waiting for her as their eyes never oscillated from each other. _

_ A thin stem of greenery stuck out from the black shade of his hair. Kore tilted her head and marveled, sensing the life of the plant that still pulsed cheerfully on the tip of his ear. It should be impossible—Hades radiated death, killing all in his wake, a power that only knew one way of life, yet her plant still sparkled with the blessings of living. She became infatuated as the stalk bloomed into a tiny white rose with gem encrusted edges.  _

_ It was, however, a distraction. _

_ Thick ropes of inky smoke manifested interlacing curls beneath her body and twisted its numbing bands around her ankle. Her eyes widened in horror, but Kore realized too late. The misty cord tightened around her limb and yanked the goddess to the spoiled ground, and a rising dust siege fogged her vision. The roots dragged her through the strips of dead earth before reaching the looming shadows, like an entrance to another world. She fought against the unexpectedly strong ribbon, gripping its strand, and momentarily turned it into a tree trunk, but it quickly returned to its cold, original form. Mimicking her power, the thread spouted sharp metallic petals from the growing roots and cut the length of her arms in rows of x’s, causing golden blood to drip onto the ground. _

_ Kore yelped in pain and all movement suddenly stopped; a faint crunching of grass blades was alerted to her ears, but it died as she brawled with the remaining black cloud. The smoke did not dissipate as she hoped, but instead rose along the width of her body, locking her in a personalized entwined prison.  _

_ Just as she had done to Hades. _

_ “Flowers have no use for death, petals,” Hades remarked, looming over her trapped body with a grin. He gripped the bidet weapon and tapped the outer level of her jail, hardening it to a dome of silver. However, Kore could still feel the blanket of Gaia on her back.  _

_ Being trapped and this close to the god, she could smell him—the lingering scent of sandalwood, pomegranates, and sweat that made her head spin. _

_ “Yet they bloom long after death and reclaim what belongs to nature,” she spat, snarling her teeth, and pushed against her confinement. It was no use. The silver bended with her touch but it did not break. Her manipulations of nature attacked from above and below, but the mold refused to release. Kore cursed the god with every foul word she had learned from the village men, but Hades only rose a brow, as if this carried amusement and entertainment. _

_ “A goddess such as yourself should not be stating those words out loud.” _

_ “What the fuck are you, mortality astynomia?” _

_ His laughter was still new and awkward, but Hades snickered with an emerging grin. _

_ Kore almost wanted to kiss it off his stupid face. _

_ Almost. _

_ “Your powers as a goddess have surprised me, Rey. No god has successfully has ever trapped me in nature, or any form of binding without my prior knowledge. Many have tried, and yet only you prevailed.” _

_ She scoffed at his praise with a roll of her eyes. “Then they were cowards to deal with death or lacked the power to try. It wasn’t that hard to do.” _

_ Hades hummed. He tapped on his weapon, thinking of what to do before leaning down until he was hovering directly above her; nose-to-nose and lips only a breath apart. It was a challenge not to pucker her lips and close the short distance. Temptation was always a dangerous friend, often getting her into trouble. So, Kore’s lips remained thinned, her cheeks flushed red and cunt clenching around nothing.  _

_ “But sweetheart, I still don’t know your name,” he pointed out gently. His lips edged along her own and pressed a tender kiss on the corner of her mouth, dithering between their desires, but waited on permission. She gasped, closing her eyes and felt every hair on her skin raising from that one motion. _

_ It would be easy to give in. It would be easy to let the shadows overtake her. It would be easy to greet this new Kore with a touch of darkness from his grace. _

_ Kore smiled and linked her eyes to his, golden whiskey meeting golden green. When Hades thought to close their lingering gap with his lips, she surprised him. A part of her body melted into the shallow marks of the Earth while another dissolved into a pink mist of butterflies. The specks of her seraphic essence scrambled from his tight prison and it evaporated into a cloud of blue vapor and followed her through the dirt, close enough to catch her but never enough. _

_ Under the cover of tree shade, her physical shape manifested. The fallen leaves circled around her body, her long hair free of ivy, and repaired the side of her dress that had been ripped from his entanglement of smoke. She didn’t need to look down to see the destruction of her clothing because the summer breeze brewed chills along the side of her body; her thigh, ribcage, and the swell of her breasts were exposed and caused her nipples to harden. Her eyes kept focus on the god, who stood dumbfounded with his mouth hung open, and allowed the petals of flying roses and leaves to mend the tears and create a new dress of mismatched colors. _

_ “You may try to bewitch me, Lord Hades, with your smoldering eyes and intoxicating air, but I will not be a fool to fall into the conquest fucking of a god who stood on my ground and murdered in vain.” Kore felt triumphant, smirking over her small victory against an older god. “The will of nature can never be concealed or contained.” _

_ Hades allowed for a feathery chuckle to escape him, grinning a boyish smile that made her heart swoon and cheeks to color. “Then it is not my ideal choice to resist you, petals, for you have shown more power in your little pinky than the oldest and wisest of Titans. It is not I who works to bewitch you, but you have bewitched me—your beauty, your talent, and feral demonstration for your territory. I apologize for what my unawareness caused, and I ask for your forgiveness with this.”  _

_ His palms turned upward, and the cast of Apollo’s rays became obscure from her viewing. She could hear Hades’ steady breathing as the sky turned into a twilight without white stars. With the soles of her feet, Kore felt her green grass crumbling to shades of ill black and burrowing under the ground. When she opened her mouth to protest against his sorcery, her jaw was shut with an audible snap. A tiny dusting of purple lights rose from the ground, flickering with life, and touched the burdened ground, her trees and her flowers with tender care. On the dirt, each glimmering sphere grew into a new grass blade and was dewy with an inky wetness, pulsing with life and death mixed into its structure. _

_ Fashioned in the mold of butterflies, a few dots of twinkling lilac and grey landed on her dress, eating away at the material. Kore wasn’t alerted of the gentle assault of her clothing and looked on in amazement as the shape of the dress shifted, turning into a lightweight attire with thin shoulder straps, a long, flowing train, and a low, curled neckline, cradling her chest in a delicate matter like hands palming her breasts. The color changed from the ill-assorted colors of nature to a shade of light blue with strings of silver and shined with glitter.  _

_ It was the most beautiful gown she had ever owned. _

_ “I have granted your gardens with the protection of the Underworld,” Hades proclaimed as the sunbeams broke through the dark sky to reveal the summer season once more and turned the glistening layer of black into droplets of clear rainwater. His eyes traced the curves of her silhouette and he cleared his throat, straightening his back and spoke formally. “They will no longer be ruined by my hand, or my aimless, wandering feet, but only by the trials and errors of the living, should you wish to build something new.” _

_ Kore stared at Hades with a pique interest and narrowed her glance in disbelief. Her arms crossed over her chest, the material of her dress shifting to shimmer in a new shade of the moon and sky. “You are a god who repays kindness with deals, as claimed by the gossip of terrified mortals… So what bargain are you looking to strike? This cannot be purely on the goodness of your heart. Death is a foe to all life, waiting to snuff its light in the shadows. How do I know you are not more of a trickster than Hermes?” _

_ “I can assure you, my feral goddess, that I am not an imposter of my name or as ruler of my domain. Hermes had won the right of trickery, although he grows stern as the roads connect with the world. As the keeper of souls, however, I am not rich enough to know this trade, or the loveliness of your nature. Although, I hold the power of the Earth’s hidden gems and wonders, so my wealth is triple that of a typical god.” He took a few bashful steps in her direction, and true to his word, the grass did not darken or withered to grey. She did not hear their cries of sorrow. It remained a lush shade of emerald, still moist from his renewal and perked as he walked.  _

_ Kore was impressed and allowed for a small hum to vibrate in her throat.  _

_ “Say or think what you will about death and its hardship or of its cruel creation, but even death has a consciousness when it takes an innocent life, like that of a gossiping mortal or a blade of grass.” Hades stood close, close enough for their chest to rise and fall within the same synced breath, and his tunic to brush slightly over her dress.  _

_ The god lumbered over her, but Kore felt protected as his shadow emitted over her face. His lips parted to speak, and she stared, haunted by how plush and inviting they were; an intoxicating darkness that she needed to step into her bones and change her life – forever. _

_ Persephone. _

_ The bringer of death. _

_ The truth was there on his lips. _

_ “But,” Kore forced herself to meet his gaze as he spoke, eyes fanning under chestnut lashes. “Death is a curious pillar of the universe, intended on learning the wonders about the living and tempted to touch all of its beauty, embodied in a single goddess,” He tucked loose strands of her hair behind her ear and gently cupped her jaw, bringing her face so close that Hades can breathe on her lips, “But all I ask of you, sweetheart, is your name.” _

_ “Kore…” she whispered, nuzzling her cheek against his soft palm. “My name is Kore, Goddess of Spring.” _

_ The goddess was rewarded with a toothy smile, making his fresh scar mute against his pale skin while his whiskey hues brightened. “Kore,” he echoed gently, but her name on his lips felt like home; it made her heart squeeze, like butterflies erupting in her stomach and the beds of grass bursting to an abnormal height except for the surrounding circle before falling back down. _

_ “Marry me?” Hades prayed after some time.  _

_ In the dark center of his eyes, zeal grew as he nestled her face with affection. His thumb rolled over the apples of her cheeks, as if counting the rows of sun-kissed freckles, and traced over the small childhood scar by her lip. The word of acceptance was right on the tip of her tongue. An enticing word, one that would reconstruct her entire life, but she knew it would be too soon. The gods have married for much, much less, and her vows of virginity have not been taken. None of which she would ever utter a single vowel. Still, the fact remained that Kore did not want to act with haste.  _

_ The Fates had forged their connection; she had seen their wrinkled faces mocking her true name, but it was new to her and far more thrilling than the growth of dandelions or the birth of newly hatched foundlings. But Kore had much to learn about herself and the world, and much to learn about this handsome god who would, one day, be her husband and king. _

_ She covered his hands with her own and pressed her lips to his cold skin, transferring warmth into his flesh as sparks of dark energy pricked her mouth. With a small smile, Kore pulled away, still holding onto his palms, and when she looked up, the goddess chuckled as she witnessed the god of the Underworld pout. Kore didn’t think anyone would believe her if she told him that the god of the many riches and keeper of souls could _ pout _. _

_ The gesture of his mouth deepened his scar. Kore carefully traced the rugged line from the top of his eyebrow to his neck before it disappeared under his tattered tunic and on top of his hard chest. She pressed against the chest muscle above his heart with a mild touch, sensing his racing, immortal heart, and the scar glowed with a gentle light of crimson and gold.  _

_ “Lord Hades, I have always been incapable of lying. The resolve to accept is right on my cheek, and I believe my heart would burst if I were to truly decline your proposal. I wish, however, for two things.” _

_ “Name them and they shall be yours, as long as you become my future queen.” _

_ “Before I can accept your offer of marriage, I want to know you better.” She inhaled, tightening her grip on his hand. “I daresay you are the most feared being, by humans and other gods alike, and perhaps even that of the God of the Sky, but I wish to understand you before I call you my husband and king.” _

_ “And if I were to steal you into the shadows and hold you in my kingdom? Ask you to eat the forbidden fruit and shower you with all the treasures unknown to man?” he chuckled, but Kore understood the glint of serious consideration on his tongue. _

_ “Even dripped in gems, given the title of queen, and having eaten the fruit of the dead, my heart will not grow fond of you, but in resentment, and I do not wish for that. These material aspects do not matter to me if I can’t enjoy it with a lover by my side, one to warm my bed and heart. I want us to understand the depths of love, because I feel that neither one of us has been truly touched by the Titan of Love. They have left us to wonder until now. And I worry…” _

_ “Don’t be afraid,” He brought her hands up to his plush lips and returned her kiss, a zap of electricity coursing through her bones and Hades shuttered from the contact. “I feel it too.” _

_ There’s a small silence before Hades asked in a small voice, “And of your second wish?” _

_ Kore offered a coy smile to the awaiting god and released his hands. With slow steps, she strolled backwards until her back was pressed against an oak tree, hair dragging along on the newly preserved ground. Hades smirked and followed. His gigantic hands found a home on her hips, expanding the size of her waist and angled her body towards his pelvic. Kore gasped as he leaned in close to her lips yet again, still waiting for her response. _

_ “Impress me, my Lord.” Her lips feathered a gentle touch to his mouth, making the god shutter and groan with his thick fingers tightening at the waist, scrunching her new dress to reveal skin the higher it went. Their mouths continued to play a game of do-or-not, temptation and lust in their eyes, but their hands roamed to discover each other; his on her thighs and hers on his shoulders, scoping the length of his neck and playing with his locks of black.  _

_ In an instant, however, Hades surprised Kore by lifting her with ease and pressed her back firmly on the tree bark, forcing her legs to wrap around his waist and dig her heels into his lower back. His lips didn’t commit hers, and she grew disappointed from the lack of action. But his mouth found a new home on her neck, biting the skin and showering the spot with a lick and peppered kisses. _

_ With an involuntary whimper, her hips slowly ground against his clothed erection. _

_ “I believe there are a multitude of ways of impressing you, my feral queen.” Kore felt his grin on her neck and her flesh rose into goosebumps when he kissed the starting point of her jaw, moving increasingly slowly until reaching her chin. His lips were right there, and she felt flushed, red joining the cluster of her freckles, and he mirrored the same image. “But how does death go about impressing the season of spring?” _

_ Kore hummed with a smile and playfully shrugged a shoulder, causing the strap of her dress to fall, pooling her fingers through the dishevel of his once-perfect quaff. She traced the sharp line of his strong jaw and swept her thumb over his lesser lip, tilting his head to the side slightly as his eyes were half open, waiting, and the goddess whispered, “I suppose that is only a question death can answer.”  _

_ Without hesitation, despite the wild tremors of her nerves, Kore crashed her lips into his. _

_ This wasn’t her first kiss, but she realized just how easily it could be, having nothing with which to compare the shamelessly devoted exploration. This felt nothing like the kisses she had experienced before; chaste little things bordering the lines of sin and experimentation, but delicate with uncertainty.  _

_ Her chest ruptured like the contents of Pandora’s box, spilling secrets and forbidden thoughts out into the open in a display with exploding lights, and suddenly left her feeling lightweight. His arms held her tighter, making her return to a solid form. It was the soft opening of yielding souls who drowned into nothingness under the murk of demise but broke the surface, re-birthed as a single soul while their mouths toyed with a long-awaited dance. The kiss was supposed to be a simple minor sensation, but it gradually grew to a hidden yearning, making her cling to him as the only solid being in a dizzy, three-dimensional world.  _

_ His lips were as soft as she had imagined.  _

_ Hades tightened his purchase around her hips, and she was certain bruises of his fingertips would appear purple the next day, but Kore didn’t find the strength to care. His insistent mouth parted her red lips and evoked heightened sensations she had never felt capable of feeling, not even with her secret conquests.  _

_ They became glued to one another, breathless but determined to explore the movement of their lips, fighting for dominance with their tongues and creating a sound border of corrupt vibrations. Passionate enthusiasm rose from her stomach and up her chest, causing Kore’s heart to skip every other beat as her whole body tingled and became rippled with heat and goosebumps.  _

_ The god moaned against her lips; an act nearly forbidden but caused her cunt to slick with want, clenching around nothing and begging to be stuffed. Their mouths moved with hunger and intensity, barely aware of fingers palming over hardened nipples or pushing away barriers of inky black and glittery blue with a cool breeze to tickle their skin. Kore gasped as his fingers toyed with her exposed breasts and his hips rolled against her wet core, but he claimed her mouth again, tongue licking into hers, and she fell into a deep desire for her future husband.  _

_ Kore ran her hands over bare, scarred flesh, healed from previous battles with the bone-color lifting off the surface. The feel of his frame against hers felt like home, radiating heat under her touch; secured yet free of will—it was much more of a home than anywhere she had ever lived or had been before. Kore knew little about love, but she thought of just how easy it would be to fall in love with the sensation of his lips on hers for all eternity, to stare into a pair of pretty eyes and collect specks of stars from his celestial body.  _

_ It would be so easy. _

_ “Marry me, marry me,” Hades repeated with his vigorous attack, and the answer was right on her tongue that he currently dominated. He momentarily left her lips and began a wet pursuit of her neck and chest, taking her nipple into his mouth when he reached the destination. She arched her back and caused his fingers to curl into her inner thighs for purchase, forcing Kore into her place; his tongue circling the bud and teeth scraping the skin, leaving her to shrill an unspoken desperation as he moved on to the next. The god neared his thumb towards the place of her want, and she mewled; her hips raising against all will so he could brush against soak skin, even for just a moment. The god was in no rush of rewarding Kore for her eagerness and reclaimed her parted lips to silent the escaping keen of desire. Her nipples were left drenched and the hardened muscles of his chest brushed against them. Hades angled his pelvic and collected more of her soaked cunt on to his tunic, leaving her to pant against his mouth. _

_ Yet, the study of their bodies turned slow, rhythmic and sincere as the casting shadows of the trees warned of the falling sun, and a twirling of fallen rose petals flying around them in a show of wind and specks of black light. The careful sweetness of their immortal bodies searched for the connection of their other half, the dyad of their soul and purpose on this Earth. _

_ The life of spring and the death to rebirth, joining as one. _

_ And then, it was as if time had stopped right there. _

_ In a flash, her spirit dissipated into a shower of golden-blue light and fluttered up the oak tree. Kore, as a cloud of butterflies, skipped through the branches of her gardens and watched as her future husband almost fell forward against the bark, giggling when he caught himself. Hades turned, eyes following as she jumped through the trees and, finally, materialized on top of a wide branch, panting from glee. _

_ “If you wish for my hand, lord Hades,” she smiled, her breasts still out in the open for his viewing. “Then I suggest you find some other matter of impressing me, and not by the length of your cock.” _

_ “You weren’t complaining about my cock just now, my queen.” The god laughed, a sound that was becoming more frequent from him, and she was thrilled to be the one who caused it. _

_ Kore didn’t linger as much as she wanted. Her body flared again into a manifestation of butterflies and she descended into the essence of the chosen oak tree, using the new links of nature to leave. It pained her to leave Hades behind, but she overwhelmed herself with the prospects of seeing him again soon. She chuckled at the thought—the lord of the Dead left alone in the center of her thriving gardens with a forgotten erection and swollen, red lips.  _

_ The sound of her laugher bounded off the surrounding mounds and pads of grass, filling his ears with her sweet voice as it echoed away. Unknowingly to her, the king of the Underworld had fallen into the pit of an unspoken feeling of mush, pink, and something he hadn’t experienced before—he thinks there’s a word for it, one forgotten from his vocabulary.  _

_ Her chest heaved as Kore ran, pounding her feet on the dirt and dashing in and out of the aged trees. She didn’t stop until the sky turned dusk and his presence of darkness was miles away—his presence was still blooming, a barely there sensation that stroked the fire blazing in her core and heart, dawdling on the skin he had felt and flesh burning without persuading his pillowy lips. _

_ Temptation reared its curious head when Kore came upon one of her hidden ponds and she wished to go back, to finish what they started and join their souls together in sin and matrimony. But the young goddess stopped herself and turned her toes into thick roots, harrowing them into the wet dirt.  _

_ She sat at the mouth of the pond to calm her rapid heartbeat, willing herself to return to normality. The wide smile she wore, however, was now a permanent feature. _

_ “Lord Hades has never offered a proposal of marriage to anyone. Did you know that, Kore?” A voice expressed nearby. _

_ The goddess hummed and raised an eyebrow, adjusting the fallen straps of her dress before and exchanged her tree roots to regular feet. She turned to find a man with his eyes closed and a smile plastered on his features. He laid on his back, hands behind his head as he basked in the warmth of the falling sun rays; a show of orange, purples, and reds dominated the sky before plunging with darkness. Kore welcomed it. _

_ “And how did you become aware of this information, Trudgen?” Kore asked, crawling to the male and straddled his hips, earning a muffled groan from him. There was no resentment in her words, only genuine curiosity from her friend, and sometime lover. _

_ “I have been in his service for some odd eons alongside the others.” His hands were situated on her hips, but they were nowhere as large as Hades. _

_ The goddess hummed again, building slow pressure against his center with the roll of her hips and hands pressed lightly against his bare chest, brushing away the corners of his cloak. “You failed to mention that to me.”  _

_ “This was far before we became acquainted, my Lady.” Trudgen chuckled, opening one eye to view her before closing them again. He bucked his hips slightly, but not enough to make her sob. “After we stumbled upon your gardens by accident, it was decided to keep this information from you. We had no way of knowing how the goddess of spring would react to the demigods of deadly sins being servants of the God of the Underworld.” He opened his eyes, removing his hands from her body and plotted himself on the elbows, looking up to her. “We still bear our scars from your wildness attack, and Ap’lek still fears your gardens. Could you truly blame us?” _

_ Kore sighed, agreeing that she couldn’t. _

_ The Demigods of Ren had stammered into her gardens on the first day her mother allowed her to be in the gardens alone, many years ago. Kore had been naïve in the ways of the world and heard nothing from the mortal villagers about a group of men arrayed in black leather and metal helmets roaming around the countryside. They held weapons of massive terror and hysteria, running to battles with monsters and bringing trouble wherever they went.  _

_ Rumors of their origins changed from village to village—they were the sons of Nyx with Tartarus as their father; they were the demons hidden inside Pandora’s box; they came from the deepest realms of the ocean, doing to do the will of a far more evil power than Cronos.  _

_ Kore had been introduced to a much more kind group of men. Although their presence was twisted, dripping in blood lust resorted with an equal evil, they apologized for gracing through—after she bonded the demigods in a tight prison of tree bark and poison ivy. Conversations emerged while they hung, and once they were released, and recovered from her poison, the demigods of Ren became good friends with the goddess of spring. And on the same day, Kore learned  _ exactly  _ how her body could be properly stuffed. _

_ “But…” her fingers worked to undo the buckle of his black cape. “Were you planning on leaving me in ignorance forever like a scolded child, after the way I have allowed you, and the others, to enter my cunt and use my mouth for pleasure frequently, on the promise that I cry from ecstasy?”  _

_ The demigod sighed and straightened, reaching his hands to squeeze her bottom before tracing up the scope of her back. He offered her a smile, pushing the long strands of her hair behind her ear. “We didn’t mean you ill-will, my Lady. We only thought it was best for you, and our Lord, but now I see that we were wrong, considering how much of a liking Hades had taken towards you.” Trudgen winked, and she blushed, the heat rising from her chest and neck.  _

_ But the mention of Hades’ name brought a wider smile on her face and Trudgen noticed, grinning as if he knew a secret before pressing a small kiss to her nose. _

_ Of the six Demigods of Ren, Trudgen had always been the kindest to her; fiercely protective, despite his envious nature and fascination towards ill-mannered punishments. Kore loved each of the demigods equally, but her favoritism stems from the close friendship with Trudgen, who oddly had a joy of gardening, too.  _

_ A hobby she didn’t expect but welcomed. _

_ Kore nibbled on her bottom lip as her fingernails ranked the surface of his chest, lowering to his abs until reaching the fastening of his silver belt. She looked to Trudgen with innocent eyes as her hand dipped lower and palmed his hardening cock.  _

_ He groaned, throwing his head back, but Kore gripped the back of his neck and forced Trudgen to look at her, her fingers digging into his chopped brown hair. “Has Lord Hades known of my existence?” She grinned, squeezing the base, and watched him hiss. His eyes locked onto her, but when Trudgen didn’t answer, Kore lifted her hips, freeing his cock from its confinement and stoked the length with a steady, but slow, pace. _

_ Just the way he liked it. _

_ “My lord had been ignorant of you until today, my Lady.” Trudgen rushed to say, buckling his hips into her hand. Kore granted him a quicker stride; the tips of her fingers touching as she stroked his cock, collecting the pre-cum at the head with each journey up. One of his hands ran the length of her thigh, scrunching up the material of her beautiful simmering dress. “As I said, he had never offered his hand to anyone—at least until now.” _

_ Kore stopped and Trudgen looked at her with wild eyes, his cheeks flushed with arousal. She pretended not to hear his whimpers and smiled bashfully when releasing his cock. Her hands, instead, removed her dress and carefully set it aside. The goddess hovered over his center, teasing the head with the roll of her hips as it collected her wetness. Kore keened, gripped his shoulders as she eased him inside.  _

_ “And I have not accepted his hand yet, and I seem in need of some release. Wouldn’t you say, Trudgen?” The goddess grinned, desire on her lips, and Trudgen agreed, capturing her lips in a bruising claim. _

The force of reality collapsed into her bones with an unprecedented might. Her feet planted firmly on the hardwood floor, causing her to stumble, but Ben caught her. Her chest heaved from the fading memory that didn’t belong to her—names, locations, and experiences all gone when Rey remembered where she was in the present moment.

New York City.

Inside a brownstone.

Inside a master bedroom.

Ben’s arms.

He gently pursed her to move on wobbly legs, gliding Rey into an oversized closet with bright overhead lights. She witnessed the way his throat cleared and bobbed with uncertainty. His hand gripped tightly around her shoulder blade but remained gentle in its caress on her clothed flesh. Her arms that had been once loose around his waist were now secured, unwilling to let him go even as he tried to separate himself upon crossing the threshold of the closet. 

He didn’t seem ready to let her go either, his lips barely gracing over the skin of her forehead with shut eyes and forced himself to turn away.

“You’re welcomed to wear anything you’d like,” he choked, jolting his chin in the forward direction. Rey observed him, her head on his chest, and she fisted the shirt on the small of his back. Her lips opened to say something, anything to calm his sudden nerves, but she couldn’t find the right words to say. 

However, something in the corner of Rey’s eye caught her attention. 

With a painfully slow turn, she eased to look over Ben’s shoulder and greeted the sight of six spiraling outlines of men in the barely lit bedroom. Rey had noticed them before, shadows merging from the roof and twisted to take shape before her very eyes, but her body did not rise with adrenaline and fear did not overtake her senses.

Formerly, they had been too blurry for her to take notice, but now, their form was more solid and clear. They clad their bodies in black and whitewith a sliver of pink ribbon worn proudly on their shoulders and warped to form initials still too far away for her to see. Their disconcerting masks left little to the imagination of their faces, but Rey knew they were handsome and caring. Their chest held modern weapons and their backs carried spars of unusual appearance, each frightful, disgusting and repulsive with blood staining the metal.

But Rey was not afraid of her demigods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Phillas:** brotherly love, or friendship.  
>  **Ludus:** flirty love.  
>  **Astynomia:** the Greek word for police.
> 
> Thank you for reading, remember that comments and kudos make me happy! And please take care of yourself mentally if this chapter was too much. ❤️❤️
> 
> I’m still somewhat on a Twitter hiatus? But follow me on the [ bird app](https://twitter.com/theyellowsaber) for updates!


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